#operation silent infestation

[r6-unifiedlands]

Sunyi's First Noise

[Koh "Sunyi" Tay Koon & Imulok "Imp" Kanun]

Summary: A hustler finally met his match in form of a kid(?) with a spider bot.

A/N: FRIENDS OCS WOOOOOOOOO!!! MALAYSIAN OPS GUYS ITS REAL NOW (Credits to @xxtempera for lending me them oh my god IM SO HYPED)

Tay Koon Koh isn’t a righteous person. That’s a plain fact.

Sure, he doesn’t litter his trash often. He has respect for his elders like many Chinese-descent Malays would. His work technically doesn’t involve anything illegal.

But sometimes, a hustler still needs to eat, like all humans would.

His usual options for this are either buying a small portion of stir-fried noodles from the small mom-and-pop stall near his place or stealing some snacks from an unmanned convenience store a bit further away.

Unfortunately, today, he chooses the latter option.

Being a hustler means scrounging for anything that he could use to survive. Whether it’s electro and engineering books that he borrowed from local libraries, to diving inside multiple junkyards for some metal scraps and usable electronic compounds that he could salvage.

The first piece of electronics he managed to make with his current skills and knowledge was a radio. Then he dismantled it and formed it into what he called a “Portable Jammer,” which he used to assist in stealing things from shops with security cameras and slip past the store’s anti-theft detector.

It’s not illegal if he doesn’t get caught, anyway. The store is a big one, and its sales margin wouldn’t drop even if it lost an item or two every week.

Food shouldn’t be gatekeep. It’s a necessity for humans to survive. Logically, it’s morally correct to steal food from the rich if you’re low on money.

With the jammer snugged nicely under his jacket, Tay Koon begins his mission to grab some snacks for the day and to check if his beloved gadget works as intended.

His eyes carefully scan around the open aisles to check for the employees.

No person in sight for now. He takes a deep breath.

There was a TV hanging on top of the ceiling near the entrance, viewing multiple aisles from the eyes of the store’s CCTVs. A couple of the screens seem to show statics only, and he grins.

His gadget still works perfectly, as usual.

The jammer becomes somewhat of a body warmer inside the inner pocket of the jacket, but he knows that if he takes his time too long, it’ll burn his skin.

He struts casually towards the snacks aisle, eyeing rows of packaged peanuts. He’s in the mood for the roasted garlic-flavoured peanuts. It pairs well with a cold glass of sweet iced tea for casual snacking while tinkering with electronics late at night. Or should he opt for battered spicy-coated peanuts—

Click-clacks.

Click-click-click-clacks.

The sudden soft whirring noise from under him almost makes him stumble down and sprint away, but he gets himself to stand on his ground and quickly examine the situation.

A small spider robot gently taps its metal legs on the ceramic floor. Its camera lens is currently facing him.

Anxiety washes him over like a bucket of ice water. He takes a small step backward, and the spider bot follows suit.

Is this the store’s new security camera? Should he run? No, running would’ve garnered more unwanted attention, and he doesn’t plan on getting caught just for this. If he quickly throws the bot away, would he be charged with property damage? Lawyers these days are expensive, and his elders wouldn’t be able to pay for any of them.

“Bejir…why is the camera screen has full static? It shouldn’t be out of boundaries…”

Tay Koon freezes on the spot. His gaze locks onto a tuft of messy jet-black hair that pops into his view at the corner of his eyes, right behind the aisle across him. Their footsteps are slow as if they’re currently afraid of crushing something.

He stares at the head, then at the bot below him. The tiny bot that he could’ve accidentally crushed if he took one more step. It tilts its “head” camera a bit, as if it’s curious at his behaviour.

The footsteps finally come to a stop at the same time as the figure stands right in front of him, revealing themselves to be an androgynous-looking person, leaning toward a more masculine look with the mullet hairstyle. They’re wearing some kind of glove with a small screen mounted onto it. Tay Koon can hear a familiar static noise coming from it, a sign of his jammer’s work.

Is this person also testing their gadget?

He doesn’t realize how short this person is in front of him, now holding the spider-looking bot and carefully inspecting it. Hell, he doesn’t even realize how they got in front of him without noticing. 

Is it his overthinking again? God, this is a bad habit of his.

“And you. What are you doing here?”

The mentioned man once again freezes in place, his dark eyes meeting the other’s own ones. Dark bags under their eyes and a flat yet uncaring expression. 

“Um…” He rubs the back of his neck. “I’m looking around… just sightseeing, I guess…?”

The other raises an eyebrow, unconvinced. “Uh-huh. What about that bag of nuts that you’re holding?”

His eyes snap at the small bag of nuts in his hand. The one that he was ready to snatch and book when he got bamboozled by that small spider bot. He clicks his tongue in response.

“Well, this is the souvenir…?”

“There’s no free souvenir, dumbass. Awak kira aku bodo kah?”

Well, seems like he can’t convince this person.

He bites his lips gently in frustration, puts the peanut bag back into the aisle, and walks away from the store, pocketing both his hands inside his jacket pocket. There goes his plan of getting a snack for tonight—

CLACK-CLACK-CLACK-CLACK—

The spider bot, which was supposed to be with the mullethead, somehow found its way out and chased him down at a speed faster than him, the taps of its legs hitting the floor became somewhat of a terrifying sound. He almost screams out, scrambling backward and trying his best to avoid stepping the small bugger.

In the midst of his panic, however, Tay Koon can see the mullethead observing from afar, looking amused. Their tablet still produces the hissing noise, so how does this one still move freely ??

“Hey, get this thing away from me!!” 

His panic response only got a small grin from the mullethead. “Well, try to outrun my bot!” They let out a chuckle. “I’d be more impressed if you can outsmart it, even! Its AI can recognize its target from afar by their clothes and running pattern.”

Panic noise echoes around the store, along with an amused laughter.

Tay Koon had never thought that this encounter would change the trajectory of his life for good.

[farfromstrange]

‘I Love You In Every Universe’

Chapter One: I Bet On Losing Dogs

Masterlist | List Of Installments

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Mutant!Reader

Summary: The day you lost Matt, you lost everything. There is no moving on from what Spider-Man put you through, and you plan to execute your revenge.

Warnings: ANGST, Major Character Death, blood, suicidal thoughts, mutant!Reader, evil Peter Parker, 18+ because of darker themes, multiverse (No Way Home Era), slight AU

Word Count: 5.8k

A/n: FINALLY! This took me way too long to edit. Today, we’re setting the scene for future installments, but you’re not getting all the details, even if the first 3000 words of this are somewhat a flashback. So, if you think that there is too little dialogue for a Prologue, that’s probably why. This chapter is integral to the future installments.

Read Me On AO3!

The world was silent when he died—an endless pit of nothingness, and above a sky full of stars. 

You don’t remember if it was raining. The moon was hiding behind a thick cloud, and the stars were burning, but you can’t remember if you were drowning in a river of tears or if it was the sky that broke that night. Everything else about that night, you remember quite vividly.

Hell’s Kitchen had become a battleground. The city lay at your feet in shambles; Wilson Fisk had become mayor after you tried hard to stop him, and the world fell apart. But it was his second in command, Peter Parker, who gave new meaning to the word ‘notorious’. Spider-Man infested your home like a parasite, slipping through your finger like dry sand. He knew what he was doing. He and Fisk held the city in the palms of their dirty hands, slowly crushing it like mealy little ants. 

When you met Matt Murdock, it was years back when things were still better, yet they were never perfect. He found you broken at the side of the road—or that was what it felt like, anyway. 

From the start, you have always been different. In a world where everyone wanted to be someone, your uniqueness painted a target on your back. Your nature was misunderstood by most; they either wanted to be you, or they were vying for your inevitable downfall. 

You stood out of every crowd. The target on your back remained no matter how hard you tried to turn yourself into a shrouded mystery. Eventually, you had to start running. You operated out of the dark like a criminal—a vigilante, and a mind-reader who could set the world on fire if she only tried hard enough. 

For most of your life, you were hunted. Scientists wanted to run experiments on you, tie you to a gurney, and study your brain until they understood how your abilities worked. Freaks wanted to sell you for millions to equally disturbed individuals. 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You were merely a scared child who grew into a terrified teenager who didn’t know any better: dead parents, dead everything, and a mind built to read those of others. 

Back then, your only instinct was blatant survival, so you ran. You ran fast and you ran far, an orphan so many would have rather seen dead than operating in the dark, but oh, you had to become something to feel like you were worth something.

When you landed in New York, beaten and alone with a bone-crushing fear of the future, the Devil found you, taking you home with him. He saved you. He picked up your pieces, glued you back together, and wrapped you in a protective glaze. All the heartbreak you’d endured, and the trauma you’d suffered getting there seemed worth it whenever he held you in his arms. 

You were Matt Murdock’s world, and he was yours. He showed you heaven and hell; he saved you from the purgatory you pushed yourself into and got you settled with a one-way ticket to paradise. After all these years, you finally found your salvation in a person.

He was your broken Catholic boy with a heart made out of gold. The universe didn’t deserve him, and yet he gave the world everything he had. He sacrificed his soul to God and his city. He prayed, he begged, and he fought hard for what he believed right at the time. 

Matt saw himself as the Devil; embodied him, too. Though in your eyes, he was an angel with an invisible halo only you could feel in every fiber of your being. His thoughts, his heart, and his soul; he gave it all to you.

You cherished him with all you could give him. It wasn’t much, but he loved you more than anyone had ever before. You were more than a mutant, more than a broken girl at the side of the road, and more than a potential test subject. With him, you finally learned what living was like—what it was supposed to feel like to be human.

The world tried to clip your wings. They took away your voice and your ability to breathe. Matt brought you back to life. He was not the love of your life; Matt Murdock was your soulmate. You lived for him. You existed for him. He was your heart, your soul, and the reason for your survival. 

It wasn’t healthy, how dependent you were on him. He made you see colors you couldn’t see with anyone else. You loved him fiercely. You loved him in a way that was pure agony. And you loved him in a way that you knew would screw you up forever.

It didn’t cross your mind that you could ever lose him. To you, Matt Murdock was immortal. He was the man you could see yourself growing old with. 

You got married in a small ceremony at the courthouse—it wasn’t just for love, it was also convenient, but he forever tied himself to you as you tied yourself to him with a golden wedding band—and you talked about maybe having children one day. A mini-you and a mini-him in your little farmhouse in the suburbs. For that, he would have left Hell’s Kitchen once it was safe enough to do so.

It was a foolish dream now that you think about it; you were foolish to think that happiness would ever be in the cards for you, but then he kissed you again, good morning and good night and in between, and all you could see was a sea of roses. 

He walked through fire (sometimes literally) for you and came back on the other side, hardly always unscathed but always alive, and always with a smile on his chapped lips. He crawled home to you even when he was broken. He crawled home to you when he was full of adrenaline. And he crawled home to you when he thought he couldn’t or wouldn’t anymore, both mentally and physically. He knew he could always come home to you, his best friend, his lover, his confidant, and soon enough, his wife.

You stitched his wounds and kissed his scars to breathe new life into him. You brought him back from the edge. You gave him something to live for. He told you that you saved him, and hearing that after getting on your knees every night, thanking him for the same thing, did something to you. It healed you from the inside out.

You kept him alive the same way he did you. You stood strong together against your enemies every night, fighting as a team. He taught you how to fight, and you taught him how to connect. Matt didn’t know what it was like not to push someone he loved away, but you made sure he understood. He connected to himself; he connected to his past, present, and future with you, and that made him a better man. 

You lost and you won, but at least you had each other to fall back on. You did it together. You did everything together. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Husband and wife. Lady Red and Daredevil.

The fragile little yet oh-so-big thing you had was raw, vulnerable, yet the most tragically beautiful love affair you could have possibly had the pleasure of calling yours. And pleasure, you had plenty. Love, you had plenty. You had everything until everything was ripped from your bare hands—until the very thing sustaining you shattered on a white cloth, spilling crimson blood everywhere, and what you swore could only be pried from your cold, dead hands slipped away in a moment in time. 

You both died, in a way, but it was Matt’s body you held as he took his last breaths in the dead of a hot summer’s night. You can’t remember if it rained, but he was certainly drowning in your tears.

“He’s going to kill you,” you warned him. “Parker and Fisk are out to destroy you. If Spider-Man sees you with your guard down, he won’t hesitate.”

Matt slid his skilled fingers into his pair of leather gloves. They were worn down, but they smelled like him. You could feel the unease sizzling in the pit of your stomach—a parasite. 

“I have to do this,” he told you, his voice laden. “The bastard is ruining innocent lives in my city. I can’t stand idly by and let it happen.”

You weren’t fighting, but the statement still hung deafeningly loud in the room, hanging itself from the ceiling with a noose that was threatening to take you down with it. 

“He challenged you because he knows you’d do anything—” 

He cut  you off, “He’s underestimating me.”

You stared into his eyes. It hurt. It hurt so much. The dark cloud was heading straight for you, but he couldn’t sense it. “You almost died the last time you came face-to-face with him,” you tried again.

“So did you,” he said. “Fisk is nothing without Spider-Man behind him, and those two have done enough damage already.”

“Matt, please—”

“I have to, sweetheart. This is the only way.”

“There is always another way.”

He shook his head. “Not this time. The city is about to fall. If I let them win, there is no coming back from this. You know that.”

“At least let me come with you then,” you said. You begged him to listen, but he wouldn’t see how worried you were. “We’ve been through hell together. We can fight this war together, too.”

“No,” Matt insisted. “He will see an easy target. You mean too much to me. Spider-Man is gonna use you to get through to me. I can do this. You just have to trust me.”

“I trust you. It’s him I don’t.”

“I’m gonna talk to him, and if I have to fight him again for the whole fucking world to see, so be it.”

The words slipped you before you could stop them, cutting through the air like a sharp-edged sword. “What if you die trying?” 

He stopped dead in his tracks.

“I don’t want to lose you!” you cried. 

You had not cried in front of him often before that night, but your walls cracked, and you broke. 

Matt cradled your face as he whispered, begging you to listen, “You won’t. I promise. I’ll be back in a few hours.”

The invisible string pulled you tighter together. Fear, anger, and desperation; he felt so many things—so many things running deeper than the ocean—but you swallowed them. 

“I’m not okay with this,” you murmured.

“I know. Here–” he guided your hands to his face, “Feel me,” he said.

You remember gasping when the floodgates opened. “I always feel you.” 

You stroked his delicate cheeks. He was here, home with you; why couldn’t he stay like that forever? Why did you have to let him go? Past, present, and future began to blur. 

I love you. He tuned out all other thoughts so you could hear him.

He was praying. He was hoping. Only a handful of times had he felt this way. You were so tightly interlaced that you could feel all of him without even trying, but that night, you tried. That night, he tuned out all of his self-deprecating thoughts. He allowed the silence of your connection to engulf him—for the city to disappear, and he allowed you in. 

I love you so much. Do you hear me? You’re everything to me. I love you.

Those three words weighed heavy like bricks on your heart. 

“Remember, three knocks,” he said aloud. “Don’t open for anyone else.”

“Three knocks,” you whispered in agreement. 

Three knocks like three words: I love you.

You read his mind, swallowing the words, but a big part of you wanted to spit them back out. You didn’t want to hear it. The universe was sending you a warning sign. 

Matt exhaled. He cupped your hands in his. The connection deepened, the string pulled tighter, and you became one. That night was the first night you saw glimpses of the future, and you didn’t want to accept it. You were such a fool to think everything could ever be fucking alright, both for you and for this magnificent force of a man you chose to call home—because home isn’t a place, it’s a feeling, and often enough, it’s a person.

He nuzzled his nose against yours. He kissed you. Softly, gently, passionately. You kissed him like you knew it would be the last time.

“I love you,” he repeated. 

The red flags waved, but you looked away. “I don’t want to say it back because you have to come back to me,” you confessed, “and this feels too much like a goodbye.”

He forced you to look at him instead. “Say it back, baby.”

“I love you,” you caved.

You shouldn’t have. You should have put up more of a fight. 

I will always come back to you. Cross my heart. He crossed his heart, but he hoped too much to die. Perhaps in not saying it out loud, he thought the truth would hurt less.

You refused to believe it until time had run out. You refused to cave until it happened. And when it happened, the city, for the first time since you’d arrived there, went completely quiet.

You followed him. Of course, you did. After a few hours of pacing the floor, you followed him. He was still in your head. You heard him from across the city, his thoughts loud and clear, and you could feel his pain like an inferno lighting up the night sky. 

When you arrived on that godforsaken rooftop though, you could only watch in horror as Spider-Man lifted the love of your life toward the sky. He wouldn’t accept your bargain. You offered yourself instead of him, but no; Peter Parker was not in the mood for bargaining. 

He lifted Matt toward the sky, and he drilled the dagger right through his chest. 

“No!” you screamed again. 

Silence. 

His blood ran through your fingers like quicksand, and sitting there, cradling Matt’s chest to yours as his heartbeat slowly faded into oblivion, you knew the end was near. The world could be so fucking unfair. You both died, but it was only his heart that stopped. You lost him that night, and your entire world stopped in an instant. 

You liked it better when he was angry with you. When he was loud, when he was laughing, even when he was just being sarcastic. You liked him better when he was alive. He turned into a ghost in your arms, forever and all eternity, and you fell face-first into the abyss. 

Maybe it was raining that night. Maybe you were being buried under the weight of your guilt and the never-ending flow of your tears. 

“I can’t…” you sobbed, tracing his cold cheek as the rain fell around you. “I can’t feel you.”

His heart stopped beating, and the invisible string pulverized. You watched it as it went with the wind. Without him. Without you. 

You screamed until your lungs gave out. Then, silence settled in. 

The night was quiet when he died; nothing but a sky full of stars and the endless black pit of death above and below you. 

The blood and his missing pulse weren’t the worst part, by far; the worst part was that you could no longer feel him, and that thought won’t ever not haunt you. 

You were certain that night. When you lost him, and you screamed your heart out, praying to a God you’ve never believed in, you swore to yourself that you would avenge him.

You were going to kill Peter Parker, and nothing in this world could ever stop you from watching this miserable motherfucker bleed to death. 

The bed shakes violently as you awaken. Dreams, so many dreams. Your nights are far from peaceful. They haven’t been for weeks. Months. What day is it? You don’t remember. 

Nightmares follow you like hunters after a fox. Your pajamas stick to your skin, and you’re sweating even though it is spring, and spring doesn’t have hot enough temperatures for you to be sweating quite like this. When you pull the comforter away in a sudden panic, the wetness seeping into your skin, there is nothing but white. No blood, no tears, just gaping emptiness in the farmhouse.

You pant heavily, dragging your nails across your skin. Your fingernails are tinted a charcoal black. In your heart, there had once been a bright red glow—like a ruby crystal sustaining your soul. You used it to channel other people’s thoughts. You could read them, you could hear them, and you could feel them. That Ruby has gone out now though; it has turned into a black smoke threatening to overtake anything it comes in contact with. 

The sun isn’t strong enough to break through the gray clouds. As you step out into the garden that stretches around your home, a gentle wind brushes through the bare branches of the dead trees. The wood is starting to splinter, turning hollow as sickness after sickness runs rampant through nature. 

You trace a finger over the poison ivy that has grown over the tombstone. The green fades, turning into a rotten brown. It dries out, and it dies right before your eyes, as do the roses you have been keeping in a vase ever since you laid a finger on the last bouquet. 

He liked the smell of roses, but you hated the look of it until Matt died, and suddenly, everything looked and smelled like a field of roses, reminding you of him. He was your daisy, your sunflower, setting fire to your freezing soul. He was sunshine, you were midnight rain. He liked to claim differently, but you wouldn’t let him. You may have been his sunshine, but out of the both of you, he shone the brightest. 

The poison ivy dies, and if you even manage to kill a plant with the word ‘poison’ in its name, what does that say about you? What has become of you; plotting a stranger’s death and killing the nature around you as you dive into books about mind-reading and dark magic to understand who you truly are? Dark magic sounds like a story out of a piece of fiction, but it’s far from that. 

You’ve known of your ability to manipulate the human mind ever since you discovered the creature hidden within you, the one who could touch another human being and see their thoughts so clearly. The one time you tried to manipulate someone, you caused them indescribably agony. You ruined their life. You broke them. You made them complicit and took all they were away from them, turning their fragile mind into ashes. That day, your fingers turned charcoal for the first time. 

If you try hard enough, you can kill him—Peter Parker. He took your husband and your city, now sitting in his ivory tower, overlooking the damage he’s done. He killed everyone and everything, even Wilson Fisk. He has taken the people of Hell’s Kitchen hostage, but no one has dared to make a move just yet, not since their beloved Daredevil disappeared off the face of the earth. With him, his Lady Red went as fast as she had come. 

You don’t want to fix what Spider-Man destroyed; you can’t get back what he took, nor do you want to, and the city doesn’t mean anything without Matt in it. 

You have to be the monster to kill another monster, only then you can join your husband in his tomb. Didn’t you vow to stay together, even in death? 

The city can burn, for all you care, but first, Peter Parker has to die. 

You scratch at the dirt in the engraving of his name. Matthew Michael Murdock. 1982 — 2023. Beloved husband and hero. 

You hate this. You hate that his grave is in your backyard, but this was the only place you knew his corpse would be safest. No one can touch him here, and you can talk to him, pretending you can still feel him. If you focus hard enough, you can still hear his voice in your head, telling you to move on. 

How could you though? How could you abandon all you’ve been through? You can fight, you can win or lose, but nothing will ever be the same again. And it is far from worth it to stay alive when he isn’t. You’ve made your decision; whether or not you’ve come to peace with it, that’s another story entirely. 

“Tonight is the night,” you murmur to the gravestone. Of course, you don’t receive an answer. 

Lately, you have been swearing to yourself you wouldn’t cry anymore, that there are no more tears left to shed, but every day, you end up crying anyway. It’s an endless cycle of despair.

You wipe your cheeks, untangling the chain that holds your golden wedding band close to your chest from around your neck. Gently, you guide it to your lips and press a kiss against the ring. 

“I love you,” you whisper.

For when you meet again in another life. 

You dig a small hole into the dry dirt where, six feet under, Matt is resting now. He always told you he would end up in hell when he died. You were never particularly religious before you met him, and when he struggled with his faith while you were together, you believed even less in an all-merciful God. Now though, with Matt gone and the world on the verge of falling apart and crushing you under its weight as you approach the biggest challenge of your life, the thought of ending up in an eternal life of nothingness after death—the thought of there being nothing but mindless darkness, no body, soul—scares you too much. Imagining the pits of hell or paradise with the love of your life, and reuniting with him, is a prospect you would rather see when you close your eyes than a world on fire. 

The necklace lands in the hole, and you cover it up. You couldn’t bring yourself to get rid of your ring before, but you won’t risk carrying it when you do what you are about to do.

Tonight, Peter Parker is going to show himself to all of New York City as the new mayor in all of his Spider-Man glory. He begged for you to come out, and he told the city he would be merciful in prosecuting you for the crimes you committed in the past alongside Daredevil. When you come out tonight though, you won’t surrender yourself. You will use the platform he is giving you and you will fight as you reveal him to Hell’s Kitchen and show the world who he is. You will tell Matt’s story, even if it’s the last thing you do. 

You have been burning for him for the longest time, and the flame is about to go out with a bang. 

That night, you put on the red suit Melvin made for you years ago before he lost his mind for what might be the last time. It has holes from where the moths dug their teeth into. The piece around the waist is starting to fade in color, and the leather is worn out, but it reminds you of simpler times. Better times. The black of your fingertips matches the lining of your outfit, and that’s all you need to feel the power sizzle deep within you.

You don’t have to remember the weather report because you can feel the rain soaking your skin through the fabric. The air smells salty, and it tastes the same on your cracked lips. Tonight, you will be Lady Red for the last time. Until the bitter end, you have sworn yourself. Matt did the same thing. You have to do him proud.

You make your way from that little farmhouse—your broken red castle—to the familiar streets of Hell’s Kitchen. Destruction surrounds you. The news didn’t do justice to what Peter has done to the city you once loved. But no one loved it more than Matt Murdock. 

Your fists clench at your sides. Oh, you want to tear this man limb by limb and feed him to the dogs. 

It starts with a low rumbling beneath your boots. You don’t pay much mind to it at first. You hide out on a rooftop across the courthouse. The spotlights are on, and he’s standing there at the podium, looking as though he is so proud of himself for ruining so many lives. You don’t usually experience joy when hurting people, but you will savor watching the life drain from Peter’s lifeless eyes. 

Your hands clench around Matt’s batons. The metal is heavy but flexible. You click your nails against them. Every move needs to be meticulously calculated, but tonight, the barons will remain in the holsters on your thighs. You won’t need them. You won’t need anything but your bare hands. 

You’re going back to your roots tonight.

The ground moves slightly, only a few inches. You could have missed it if you weren’t crouching to get a better look at the world below you. You catch yourself on the ledge, a frown finding its way on your face. 

“What the f–” you shake your head. Since when does thunder shake the ground?

You seem to be the only one who notices, or Peter Parker is better at brainwashing his decibels than you expected. He was born to be a dictator. His presence turned your fairytale into a dystopian tragedy.

“Tonight,” he says into his microphone, “is the last chance for Lady Red to reveal herself for a lesser sentence. A new era is on the horizon. I am your mayor, and I am Spider-Man. Without me, you would be nothing. Daredevil couldn’t save you. Wilson Fisk couldn’t save you. But I can, and after tonight, we will start anew. For this is the era of real heroes as we rebuild this city from the ground up, and we turn the City of New York, including Hell’s Kitchen, into its own world. Starting with the arrest of the criminal who is Daredevil’s accomplice Lady Red. I hope for her sake she will show herself tonight. If not, we will find her, and she will suffer the full extent of the consequences of her actions. That includes the Death Penalty.”

You land gracefully, catching yourself with your hand on the asphalt. The crowd parts with a gasp, and you finally stare into his eyes. 

After he drilled that dagger through Matt’s heart, he told you, “You will always be a monster, never a God.”

You deserve nothing, he thought. It has stuck with you since that night. Growing up, it was the only thing you heard. You were nothing but trash. A disgrace. A monster. What will they say when they see that you have finally become what they feared so much? 

You will burn down whatever is left of the world, including him. God knows you want to. 

Magic pulsates in the atmosphere like a growing spell in a small shoe box. The air vibrates, and the ground shakes again. This isn’t your doing, but the sudden charge that fills your veins as adrenaline sustains you. Your eyes glow red. This is who you were born to be. 

“I heard you were looking for me,” you declare. 

He doesn’t look surprised to see you. “Ah, just like clockwork,” he murmurs. “Are you going to make this hard on all of us or are you here to finally surrender yourself?” 

You purse your lips, playing with the energy between your fingers. “I came to destroy you.” Each step toward him on the big marble steps feels like a mile, and the crowd starts to move further back, dispersing in an attempt to save themselves. Most of them are eager to watch though. What has he done to them? 

“Destroy me?” Peter laughs, addressing the crowd again, “You see who you’ve been calling a hero all this time? This mutant? Look at her!”

All eyes are on you. They’re whispering. They’re speculating. Their thoughts overlap in disarray, and you’re drowning in a sea of judgment. They are trying to tear you down like sharks. You’re leaking blood, and God, they are angry. But it’s not you they’re angry at.

“You call me a mutant,” you say, “but wasn’t it you who was bit by a radioactive spider?”

His smile fades. 

“You are Spider-Man, no?”

“You are a wannabe hero with unregulated powers,” he snaps. His voice roars through the speakers, and the mood in the crowd starts to shift.

The ground vibrates again, stronger this time. You can’t be the only one feeling the quakes, but everyone else seems unmoved. They’re too focused on both of you to notice anything else, and you should do the same. However, the energy doubles and you are closer to bursting than ever. Something is happening, and you have no control over it.

Peter sneers. “You’re a failure,” he calls your name, “just like your husband!”

You stop dead in your tracks. Your eyes darken. “If you want to enforce the death penalty on me, Parker,” you growl, “why don’t you do it yourself?” 

Peter taps his chest, and his suit transforms into shades of black and spider webs. At that moment, panic erupts. People start running, but you tune them out.

The air begins to smell sour. Burnt. It is so high the pain consumes you whole. He doesn’t have to touch you to bring you to your knees, but looking up, you realize that it wasn’t Spider-Man who infused your ears with such a high frequency.

Someone is uttering a powerful spell, you can hear his voice in your head as he thinks of several names all over the place. Time passes by in a flash. Hours, days, weeks, and months. The universe falls out of control. The beeping picks up and you sink deeper into the ground.

You swear then and there that the sky starts to rip in two. The sky resembles a nasty cut on your forehead, a pair of hands ripping the cut further apart, causing the blood to pour out in rivers.

One of the cuts swallows you. With a scream, you fall through several rollercoasters passing by violet stars. 

The cut is a portal; one moment, you are flying through the sky at the highest possible speed, and the next, you hit the ground hard.

It’s not raining anymore. The sun shines down on you, and the heat creeps up your skin like tiny ants. The pain finally releases, but your head is still spinning. So many feelings, so many voices, and so many thoughts threaten to overwhelm you.

Not even an LSD trip hits that bad. You lazily open your heavy eyes to find not the courthouse but the New York skyline right before you.

You look down at your shaky hands. The charcoal is gone. The power in your veins feels different, all-consuming, but in no way bad. You take a deep breath. Even the oxygen tastes different. 

The world stops spinning, and you finally take a look around. A car honks, an SUV heading straight for your wobbly frame.

You’re in the middle of a road. What is it? A freeway.

Oh, shit!

You jump aside, hitting the sidewalk with a loud thud.

“Watch out, bitch!” the driver shouts out of his window. 

Where once used to be the courthouse, you are met with a street in the middle of downtown Hell’s Kitchen, New York. Stores line the side of the street. Tourists, foreigners, and those who are native to the city pass by you, and their gasps and whispers sound so different from the automatic voices Peter Parker raised them to be.

“Oh, no,” you breathe out. “Oh, no, no, no!” The air is getting thinner. 

“What are you thinking about, hm?” he asked into the darkness of the room. 

His heartbeat aligned with yours. His calloused fingertips traced your bare skin. You were in heaven. Beautiful, sinful heaven.  

His jawline appeared even sharper in the colorful lights from the billboard outside. His skin glowed white—paler than usual, even. You could stare into his eyes forever, such a beautiful hazel with hints of forest green. Perfect eyebrows, perfect lips. They bowed at the top, so kissable.

He pressed them to your bare shoulder blade, down your spine. The butterflies danced crazy in your tummy.

“You’re distracted,” he hummed again.

You chuckled, looking over your shoulder at the beautiful man in bed with you.

“Can’t help it when I’m with you,” you remember saying. 

Matt offered you his signature smirk. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. I quite like the view.”

“And when I do this?” He trailed another finger down your sensitive spine. 

You shuddered. “That, too.”

He did it again. “Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.”

“Thinking,” you said.

“About what?” he asked.

“A book I read.” You paused to turn on your back. “About the multiverse.”

It was a surprising change in subject, and he raised his eyebrows in a rather amused way. “The multiverse?” 

You nodded. “We know way too little about it. There could be more of me and more of you out there, and we don’t even know it,” you told him. “The multiverse… there is a chance it could be real. And that alone is terrifying because if it opens and we’re not prepared, chaos might ensue.”

He propped himself up on his elbow next to you, listening to the calming sound of your voice. It was always his favorite thing to do.

Matt used your voice as his podcast; it was his favorite, too. 

“Can we jump universes?” he wondered.

You shrugged. You didn’t know, at least not at the time. “Maybe,” you said. “But I’m not a scientist, let alone good at physics, so… let’s just go back to kissing. I’m much better at that.”

He laughed, but he did not object. At least with kissing, you both knew what you were doing. So, he brought his lips to yours, and the multiverse disappeared in a Bermuda Triangle of pleasure in your mind. Lost but not forgotten. 

Maybe.

But as you sit there, sliding back against the brick wall in the closest alley, you realize that you downplayed the probability. 

You were going to kill a man, but instead of blood on your hands, you are now cursed with the knowledge that the ‘maybe’ of your once-thought-silly pillow talk has always been very fucking real, and you have nowhere to run in this strange world you have fallen into that is New York City, Earth-616. 

Where do you run when you can go anywhere, just not home? 

Tagging: @nk1023 @sarahskywalker-amidala @ignore-mp3 @imonabitchparade @familyvideowithsteve @eyelessdemon

[darklordazalin]

Azalin Reviews: Darklord Malus Sceleris

Domain: Nosos Domain Formation: 732 BC Power Level:💀⚫⚫⚫⚫ Sources: Domains of Dread (2e), Islands of Terror (2e)

It is said that Darklords are the reflections of their Domain and none more so than Malus. Malus Sceleris, whose name roughly translates to “tree crime”, is the Darklord of Nosos, a stinking pile of refuse and burning coal.

Save for small patches of brown grass that grow in the estates of wealthy nobles on the outskirts of the city, no plant life can survive in the poisonous air and garbage choked earth of the disease-infested land of Nosos. In fact, Malus’s people only survive by trading gold and coal produced by their numerous mines with other Domains.

Malus is the son of two Druids who dedicated themselves to the protection of the same forest. His mother died in childbirth, leaving his father to raise him on his own. Not an easy task, especially when one must raise a child to carry on their legacies while maintaining rule of their Dominion.

As the life of any ruler is divided between the rule of the land and their family, Malus’s father spent little time with his child and the time he did spend was often times of instruction and discipline. A tale I am all too familiar with…

Malus did not take kindly to his constant discipline and the resentment that developed soon turned into poisonous hate. The young lad studied poisons and diseases until he came up with an elaborate plan to commit patricide.

He purchased old blankets that he contaminated with diseased wrappings from the terminally ill, dead bodies, and lepers. He then set up a lumber operation guarded by hired mercenaries, and instructed them to brutally tear down the trees of his father’s forest, knowing his father would come to defend it.

The old druid defended his forest and was severely injured while doing so. Malus cared for his wounds, using the diseased blankets and wrappings he had gathered to do so. Then he sat by his father’s side, silently watching as he died in agony.

With his father out of the picture, Malus opened a coal mine and set about deforesting the region. By the time the Mists came for him, the area was so choked in smoke that no one noticed.

As a Darklord, Malus continues to study disease and is said to be the most knowledgeable epidemiologist in all the Demiplanes. He can use a far more potent version of “cause disease” on any target and, though it causes him blinding headaches, he can use “charm” as well. Otherwise, he is a well-guarded nobleman who uses his oily charisma to deceive his people into believing he wants Nosos to thrive and become the great area it once was, not the stinking garbage heap it now is.

Malus’s Domain can appear at the edge of any other Domain he chooses. The last time he came near Darkon, I had to spend months and far too many resources cleaning out all the rivers…

Is Malus’s rebellion against his father worth a lifetime spent with the smell of refuse, constant plague, and depleting oxygen levels? He seems to pretend so. Enjoy your garbage heap, you greasy bastard. 1/5 Skulls.

[credince--writes]

Masterlist

Call of Duty

Jittersverse-

Jitters - AO3 - Completed. (Non Romantic Fem!OC AU) ~ Jitters is a PMC brought onto the support 141 operations, much to the distaste of the 141 group of PMC's.

An Act Of Arson - AO3 - Uncomplete, Hiatus. (Book 2 of Jitters) ~ The continuation of the Jittersverse.

A Promise - AO3 - Oneshot, Complete. (Ghoap Angst, Background) ~ After John's mother died, Simon asked him to make a promise.

Jitters (Remastered) - AO3 - Uncomplete, Hiatus. (Rewrite)

Keegan P. Russ-

Deep In Those Woods (Series) (Keegan Russ/Reader) (In Progress) - You find a strange man in the woods, no doubt running from the federation. He seems, well, in simple terms beat to shit. May your act of kindness not go unpunished.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley-

The Silent Library Treatment (Oneshot)- Sometimes, after a long deployment, Simon needs a refresher. Or: Simon Riley acts like a dumb virgin to get you to put on a show.

Better Off Dead - (Simon Riley/John MacTavish/Gary Sanderson/'Chic'(OC)) (In Progress) (Series) - It's been five years since Gary had come to terms with what he had left behind after crawling out of that pit. It just so happened it took an infestation of roaches to make it happen.

mor·tal·i·ty - (Simon Riley/John MacTavish/Camile Ford(OC)) (In Progress) (Series) - TF141 has been disbanded, and they have returned to civilian life, forming a PMC company focused on logistical consulting of the operations they once preformed. John MacTavish never truly recovered from the accident, and never let Simon back in to pick up the pieces that were left. Camile Ford had never been one to bend the whims of morals, never stepping to close to dance with the fire of her own mortality. But divinity calls her name, and she's never been one to ignore the higher powers calling her name.

John 'Soap' MacTavish-

Better Off Dead - (Simon Riley/John MacTavish/Gary Sanderson/'Geeter') (In Progress) (Series) - It's been five years since Gary had come to terms with what he had left behind after crawling out of that pit. It just so happened it took an infestation of roaches to make it happen.

mor·tal·i·ty - (Simon Riley/John MacTavish/Camile Ford(OC)) (In Progress) (Series) - TF141 has been disbanded, and they have returned to civilian life, forming a PMC company focused on logistical consulting of the operations they once preformed. John MacTavish never truly recovered from the accident, and never let Simon back in to pick up the pieces that were left. Camile Ford had never been one to bend the whims of morals, never stepping to close to dance with the fire of her own mortality. But divinity calls her name, and she's never been one to ignore the higher powers calling her name.

Gary 'Roach' Sanderson-

Better Off Dead - (Simon Riley/John MacTavish/Gary Sanderson/'Chic') (In Progress)(Series) - It's been five years since Gary had come to terms with what he had left behind after crawling out of that pit. It just so happened it took an infestation of roaches to make it happen.

John Price-

To Mend My Wounds (Series) (In Progress) - Lieutenant John Price is sent on a (not on paper, but just as much of an order as anything else) mandatory leave to visit an old friend of Captain Lund for some much-needed healing.

The Grocery Store (Oneshot) - Sometimes all it takes is soup and a grocery store to meet the love of your life.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick-

How To Murder Your Landlord (Pending)

König-

Shatz- Medic!Fem!Reader

Background Check (Oneshot) (Shatz) - 141 becomes suspicious of König, Soap & Ghost are sent to find out why he rushes off so often. They find out why.

Scary Dog (Oneshot) (Shatz) - You need a new printer. Sometimes you need to bring negotiation aids.

Shatz- (Collection) (Shatz) (Mixed Requests) - Collection of Tumblr Requests about my favorite tree himbo.

Miscommunication (Oneshot) (Shatz) - You've had a hard day. He accidentally takes it as you are mad at him. He tries, diligently, to fix the problem.

Hands (Series) (Shatz) - God, you dream about those hands.

One Would Think (Oneshot) (Shatz) - One would think the large man would have reservations about his strength, it is rare he is able to be soft. To be gentle.

[alteredsilicone]

Midsummer Love

June 27, 1999.

The pastry from the baker was a little bit stale, but the strawberry filling was just the right amount of sweet, if a little sticky. Albrecht had suggested they buy the sweet pastry and now he and the Drifter sat on a park bench on a sunny June afternoon, eating in contemplative silence. When she first caught up with the Orokin, at least a hundred 1999’s ago, his fondness for sweets came as a surprise, but eventually Virgo put two and two together - the Sanctum had an abundance of sugared biscuit tins, yet Loid never offered them during tea time. Virgo didn’t complain about the sweet pastry, however. It was a little respite after Midsummer madness. She had ignored the Scholar’s teachings and advice many times, but perhaps, just this once, she could indulge him.

A curious thought wandered into her mind.

"What kind of pastry does Loid like?"

Silence. Albrecht chewed his treat and looked inside it, as if the answer could be divined from the strawberry jam.

"We would usually eat the same thing. I ate what he liked."

"Or did he pick out something that you liked and made himself like it too?"

Silence. Albrecht stopped eating, a third of a pastry still in his hand. He stared off into the distance, his gaze turned away from the Drifter.

In Duviri, when the Jester asked a question she wasn’t supposed to, the Scholar would lead her to the exit of his laboratory, sometimes grabbing her by the scruff to not-so-gently lead her onwards. Now there was no way to get rid of her, nowhere to run either, so Albrecht chose silence. He sat there like a statue and kept staring, surely captivated by the pigeons bathing in the nearby fountain. Virgo waited, the summer days were long and she would not enable his bad habits. She was no Loid, bound by duty to endure his silent treatment.

"You don't know." Virgo spoke up. It was as simple as that.

No answer. Albrecht didn’t even turn his gaze to her. The pigeons flew away.

“I don’t know.” It felt like a lifetime had passed once Albrecht finally spoke.

Pathetic.

Virgo was no longer hungry. She hastily discarded the remains of her snack.

Disgusting. Wretched little man. Do you even care?

A knot in her stomach. Nausea.

Loid. Loid, however. He is good and soft and kind. He deserves better than me.

The Drifter jumped up from the bench and walked a few good meters away from Albrecht, until the nausea retreated and the knot in her stomach dissipated. She swung her arms, stretched her legs, as if she had suddenly remembered there was a marathon due in a few days and she needed to prepare. She focused her mind on the fountain, then on the trees and then started counting the tiles on the pavement. Eventually, all foreign thoughts left her.

No more stupid questions, Scholar. Got it.

Albrecht finally stood up and turned his attention to the Drifter. The remains of the pastry were thrown in a waste bin by the bench.

"Tenno. We should go."

---

The sixth cycle of Sol, xxxx.

Virgo watched as Loid tapped at the terminal, logging her most recent trip to 1999. Another doomed timeline, stopped sometime in November, due to a very stupid mistake.

There was a door. A door meant a gateway, often to Duviri, sometimes to the Deep Void. What Virgo had not anticipated was the infestation, lunging at her and Albrecht as the door flung open. By the time she could react, Albrecht was already pulled inside, the door had closed and disappeared into the ether. Then there was a moment of oblivion and she woke up in the Sanctum again.

“Another death. I logged it in Albrecht’s report. The next one’s on you.”

Loid worked tirelessly and diligently. Virgo knew how hard it was for him to watch her fail again and again. To watch his love die over and over again, with no way to help him. He had to trust the Chosen Operator, he had to trust the Sequence and most importantly, he had to trust Albrecht.

Loid was good and soft and kind.

She felt safe in his presence, calm. It was strange. Virgo did like Loid, despite the rocky beginning of their acquaintance. She found a way to endear herself to him, find common ground. He seemed to find some respite in having someone who also remembered the long lost past of the Orokin Empire. They would talk of symposiums and menial work in the laboratory - Loid quite enjoyed her tales of the Virmink domestication programs in the Orb Vallis laboratories. Virgo did her best to entertain him, to take his mind from the Kalymos Sequence, if only for a moment.

This sense of safety, however, was a new sensation.

My strength, my support, my sanctuary.

A failed timeloop left a mark. Virgo must have taken a little souvenir with her once again.

Talking to Albrecht was infuriating and difficult, getting anything out of him was like pulling a rotten tooth out of a lion's maw, armed with nothing but a pair of pliers. If Albrecht had been a Corpus aristocrat, Virgo would have thrown in the towel long ago - this much effort for this little payback would not have been worth the diplomatic headache. She had dealt with all sorts of problem clients, but Albrecht was like every flavor of nightmare rolled into one human being. Yet now, she had somehow gotten something out of him. Something priceless, more valuable than any of the baubles she had eyed in his laboratory on Scholar’s landing.

His love. The softness she felt, standing at Loid's side as he was fussing over mission logs, that was an echo of Albrecht she had stolen, unknowingly.

How embarrassing, perverse even. Like sneaking up to the bedroom door of the lovers and peeking through the keyhole, into the scenes of their most intimate moments. Love. Love was something that made Virgo dizzy and mad, it was unlike any feeling she picked up from other people.

If only she could show that love to Loid, to expose his mind to Albrecht's. Connect them.

Virgo walked away and sat down. No. That was not for her to decide. Those were the thoughts of a greedy and selfish person, perhaps another thing she stole from Albrecht. She needed to cleanse her mind and clear her head.

"Loid?"

"Yes, Virgo?"

"What kind of pastry do you like?"

[angie-long-legs]

starter for @voxuli

Fizzle. Pop.

Thunk.

This particular combination of sounds coming from the conference room was certainly unusual enough to intrigue Angel, who had been idly passing by on his way from the studio.

As usual, he should have stayed curious.

Upon entering the expansive room, the spider was greeted by nothing and no one: the noises had appeared to come from somewhere entirely empty. That was until the presence of a shark gliding in his peripheral, a resident of the aquarium that encircled the entire room, drew his vision to a shadowed heap within the confines of the glass barrier.

A heap that appeared to sport a television-shaped head.

The CEO of VoxTek, Angel's not-quite-boss, was lying, limp and listless, at the bottom of his own shark tank.

That fucking idiot; was Angel's first thought. He's fucking drowned.

His second thought was only somewhat more coherent: what the fuck was he supposed to do? Val and Velvette were on a business trip that landed them on the other side of the Pentagram, leaving Vox to hold down the fort (and Travis, the idiot, to direct at the studio), so there was no hope of a fellow Vee rescuing him from his watery prison. Angel couldn't leave him there - not least because it would prick his conscience, but also in the knowledge that the cameras that guarded every inch of Vee Tower would collect video evidence of his disregard. Video evidence that would no doubt make it back to the absent Overlords; and, when he regenerated, Vox himself.

With a silent groan, Angel brought a hand to his face in sheer annoyance. He was going to have to drag him out.

Of very literal shark-infested water.

If the Overlord hadn't been as dead as it was possible for a sinner to be without angelic weaponry entering the picture, his nifty powers of teleportation would have really come in handy right about now: there was no way Angel was about to dive into a shark tank to rescue someone he tolerated at best. As he made his way to the elevator, pressing the button for the floor above, he hoped to god that fate wasn't setting him up to be lunch for his boss's preposterous pet.

Thankfully, his ponderings regarding his role as potential shark bait were cut short, a far simpler solution presenting itself as Angel entered the room directly above the conference room, in which the open top of the tank was accessible. A moderately-sized podium that Vox presumably used to lower food into the shark's habitat lay flat against the floor of the aquarium, and, somewhat fittingly, Vox himself appeared to have sunk directly onto it's surface - a high-voltage snack to his exotic pets, should they choose to indulge. Fortunately, they seemed to be entirely uninterested in their doting owner's lifeless corpse, most likely on account of his mechanical viscera. How much of Vox was organic matter and how much was technology eluded Angel, but when it came to the sharks, he strongly suspected that wires and circuit boards were not their preferred diet.

The podium operated from a small control panel beside it's access point, and, fortunately for the Media Demon, it's workings were simple enough for Angel to figure out. Like some topsy-turvy mockery of an arcade claw machine, the actor used the panel's joystick to slowly raise the podium to the water's surface, hoisting the CEO's ragdoll body in tow like a novelty prize.

Now came the task of hauling his unwanted award from the podium to... where exactly did Angel plan on taking him? Dragging the drenched form of the Overlord out of the water was a start, at least, even if his body was slack and his screen was blank. The spider rolled the unconscious Vox over so that he lay face-up on the floor.

What the hell was he supposed to do now? Would he just regenerate on his own? How long would it take? He couldn't just leave him there.

That was when a truly zany idea crossed Angel's mind. Weren't you supposed to put waterlogged technology in rice? He was sure Cherri had told him to do that last time Val threw his phone into his pool, and... well it wasn't like he had anything else to try.

Between leaving the demon to regenerate on the cold floor surrounding the shark tank and dunking him in a rice like a child in a ball pool... the weirder of the two options sounded at least more productive. It had to do something, right? Otherwise, why would people do it?

Using Vox's ridiculous supervillain computer set-up to order rice, of all things, was stupidly easy now that Vox was offline. For someone so security-conscious, Angel would have thought he'd have some form of backup should he become incapacitated like this. But here the porn star was, using the man's bank account to buy thirty-five gallons worth of rice, under which he intended to submerge the poor bastard in the hopes of reviving him quicker.

Lugging his body from the entertainment section of the tower and up to Vox's personal quarters was a far more taxing endeavour. The man was lucky Angel was stronger than he looked, that was for sure. Tipping packet after packet of rice into Vox's en-suite bathtub was also laborious and time consuming, leading Angel to question multiple times throughout the duration of this process why exactly he was doing this.

By the time Angel had actually filled the bath to the brim, the only task that remained was to manoeuvre Vox himself into the tub of grains. Gingerly, Angel slung the other demon's arm around his shoulders, hoisting him upright before unceremoniously shoving him sideways so that he toppled face-first to his carbo-loaded fate.

That would do.

Exhausted by the whole ordeal, Angel collapsed at the side of the bath, grains of rice sticking to his damp skin and hair.

All that was left to do was wait.

[gethoce]

💫 for my boi, Zillian (also is that BAAL HADAD IN YO HEADER- that is AWESOME. My Ugarit mythology brainrot has gotten to you.../pos /j)

[💫 (Shooting Star) - If they were to wish on a clockwork star, like Galactic Nova or Star Dream, what would they wish for?]

While Zillian isn't the type to make wishes like that, if given the chance he would ask for the pack of Scarfies that raised him to be brought back from the dead. Sure, his later Clan, Eon-Eon, also suffered massive loses as well, but they at least had a fighting chance. Those scarfies were in no way capable of defending themselves from Valfrey's forces and didn't deserve any of it either.

(Me cryptically hiding the true name of a Knight in my Blog title for a third time. 🔥)

Since I only ever mentioned Zillian once and never described him at all, here is some more info about him.

Zillian is a member of Clan Eon-Eon, a group of Dream Matterborn who are responsible for the Fountains of Dreams. He was born within a region known as the realm of Shadows which is known for its dark matter infestation, which left a permanent mark on about half his body when he was struck with dark magic once. He was an orphan who was raised by Scarfies, thought to be dark matter himself up until he grew wings. When Valfrey's Samurai came to eradicate all things dark matter they also killed these scarfies. Zillian fled to Eon-Eon territory where he joined the clan and became a fountain keeper and then got promoted to the role of Tower Operator. He is non-binary (any/all) and has the artist ability. Very silent at first with a scary looking stare, but just as an odd sense of humour. Likes to startle people by peaking into rooms and waiting for them to notice him, then leaves laughing, for instance. He likes to draw hands on his canvasas and lets them chase his enemies in battle.

[lemony-snickers]

👉🏻👈🏻 reunion kiss maybe? With Kakashi and your choice?

Gai doesn't like to think about where Kakashi goes when he disappears on a long mission. Contemplating the type of dingy, rat-infested places he might be hiding, the ugly-hearted people he may be having to talk with. Charm, even.

It makes Gai's molars grind together, makes his whole body ache to run out into the darkness after his Eternal Rival and drag him back into the light.

Kakashi's been in ANBU for so long, now, Gai should be used to the long, uninterrupted silences. Kakashi has never been a particularly forthcoming person; he's too good at turning off his emotions, pushing away the people who care for him.

It's why he's so good as an ANBU operative. A commander.

It's also why Gai was so confused the first time Kakashi kissed him.

It had been brief, nearly nothing. A swift peck to Gai's mouth and then nothing but a swirl of leaves.

It progressed from there, though. When Kakashi was in the village, he often stole his way into Gai's room and curled against him in the dark. Gai would turn to ask what was wrong only for Kakashi's lips to insistently find their way to his, effectively and prematurely silencing any questions he might want to ask.

Gai wishes he could be more demanding, ask Kakashi what exactly it was they were doing on those nights. But mostly, he's too grateful for Kakashi's trust, the warmth of him so close.

Knowing, at least for those few precious moments, that he is safe.

Gai hears Kakashi before he sees him, and even when he does, he's no more than a shadow against the moonlight seeping through the curtains. Kakashi crouches low as he makes his way to the bed, collapsing gracelessly to the mattress without a word.

Gai waits. Silent, beseeching. Desperately hoping Kakashi will say something to fracture the silence--explain where he's been, say he's sorry it's been so long.

Three months without a word, without a visit. Gai wants to believe Kakashi was away on a mission for the duration, but his gut knows better.

Kakashi was avoiding him. Avoiding this. And though Gai is good at ignoring some things in deference to Kakashi's comfort, he needs to hear some recognition of his worry, some attempt at soothing the simmering anger in his belly.

Kakashi's hand curls over Gai's shoulder, pulls a little in an attempt to roll him over. Gai shrugs out of the grip, breathing angrily through his nose.

He lets the anger boil, rising higher and higher, threatening to spill over.

"Please."

It's not what Gai expects from Kakashi--pleading. There's a sour note in the word that tugs at something behind Gai's navel, turns the heat down so his anger cools to a faint irritation.

When he turns, Kakashi's face is already bare, nearly glowing in the moonlight. His eyes are rimmed in red and purple from lack of sleep, and Gai's molars clang together as he tries not to scream that Kakashi should step down from his position in ANBU.

That he should stay here more often, where Gai can see him, hold him, taste him.

Make sure he is safe.

Kakashi reaches up and brushes Gai's hair back from his forehead. The gesture is tender and sweet, unexpected.

Gai opens his mouth but he never gets the words he wants to say out because then Kakashi's mouth is there, too, pushing, pressing, tugging.

Fervent. Demanding. Still pleading.

Gai threads his own strong hand into Kakashi's hair and grips it tight, forces Kakashi's lips to slow their rhythm. He has missed Kakashi, worried over him in his absence.

He will savor this.

Kakashi's other hand finds Gai's waist and his fingers skate over it, looping to Gai's back where it fans across naked, hot skin. Gai groans a little against Kakashi's mouth, ignoring the smile his pleasure brings to the other man's face.

Those words of anger--of fear--still burn in Gai's belly, but they are embers, now. Tamped down by the relief of Kakashi's return, the softness of his lips.

Tomorrow, Gai will try again to save Kakashi from himself. For now, all he can do is save him from whatever dark thing he is running from.

Be the light Kakashi needs to make it to another day.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Snare and Dead Fall

Author’s notes: Part 2 of Claude’s story. Previous  Next

Summary: Claude's on a mission.

Warnings: None?

Tagged: @sleepyfan-blog, @whorety-k, @egrets-not-regrets

Claude is humming to himself softly, it’s low enough that he won’t be scolded for making noise while he’s supposed to be in Stealth Mode. As a Primaris Marine, the roll out of them and heading to their First-Born Battle Brothers had happened seven years ago by his counting. He’s glad that he and his squad were sent to the Storm Hawks, while stealth wasn’t used much by most kinds of Astartes, Storm Hawks, as successors of the Raven Guard do use stealth as one of their primary modes of fighting against their foes.

Claude had noticed, when they were being split up among their elder brothers a certain Captain who’s armor had flashed teal for the briefest moment before settling into Ultramarine. That Captain had tried to lure him and his squad to follow him to becoming ‘ultramarines’. But the whispers giggled and cackled in his ears. He had nightmares about the flash of teal turned ultramarine. Of the twisting, whispering and Hatred enflamed and nurtured that weaves and woven within the Imperium. He blinks and snaps back to here and now. A split second and he glances left to right and picks a different team to deal with that.

He’d pointed to a different squad and informed the ‘ultramarine’ that his squad was Zeta-bresk-four, not his squad, Zeta-bresk-five. The ‘ultramarine’ shrugged and took that other squad. His comrades had frowned at him concerned, but a Storm Hawk Captain scowled up at the lot of them and they were ordered to follow them. For several years he and his brothers had been Aspirants for the Storm Hawks.

This mission that they are going on, is their first as Full Battle brothers for the Storm Hawks. They are to infiltrate and extract information from these cultists as well as to setup up traps and capture, alive, as many as possible, per the orders of the Lord Inquisitor. It was Claude’s job to set the traps and ensure that the cultists are caught, as many as he can manage, before the rest of them realize what’s going on and things get more interesting.

He finishes up setting and camouflaging the traps and sits up somewhere up high and with a sniper blaster at the ready as he watches. He waits, patiently for the Chaos Cultists to wander unsuspectingly into his traps. The rest of his squad are on radio silent, doing their own tasks. Humans, even chaos scum heretics, are mostly night blind and fall into his traps far more easily than he thought they would. After a few more are trapped. He silently snipes into the traps with a knock out agent that will hopefully keep them from trying to kill themselves, or alert others too quickly.

“Urk.”

He freezes, that came over coms, rather than from the noise of those outside of his helmet.

“Sit rep,” He whispers quietly enough that the comms barely pick it up and his brothers hear him.

There is silence, funny how it is so quiet, save for the rustling of the wind and his near silent steps, he’s learned how to breath silently, something that a person as large as him with three lungs is quite the task. It had taken a long time to be taught how to properly step silently as he was grown and raised within the ranks of the Primaris Astartes.

The silence eats at his stomach, curling it’s icy cold fingers around his hearts. He takes in a deep breath and briefly closes his eyes and extends his senses. His brothers are alive, he feels their warm-bright souls in the darkness-warp that is this Chaos infested planet. The whispering cackles are louder and he pulls back into himself with a slight shake of his head.

“Caught one of their Important people,” Talos grunts in response. “Chaos Scum nearly spotted me.”

“Speed things up,” Their Sargent says after a few moments of silence. “Better cut the operation short than to stay longer and get spotted and get dead or worse.”

“Yes sir,” All of them say simultaneously.

He’s continued to take out the trussed up and unconscious Chaos Filth and notices the different qualities of their clothing, some have fancy finery of the nobles and the elite of this planet, others have rough spun clothes of the desperate and destitute of this scum world that with their actions shall help them bring the planet back into the Light of the Imperium. Depending on how deep the Corruption runs, and how their older brothers, and the Inquisition decides for these souls, and the souls upon this infected planet.

[halofanfiction]

Fan Fiction:

Halo: Locks and Shadows

Master Chief stood in the hangar bay, watching as a group of UNSC engineers carefully secured the last few components of the floating spherical AI unit. The tech, sleek and matte black, hovered silently above its platform, approximately a third the size of the Monitor he had encountered on previous missions. Its smooth surface had small, recessed panels, giving it a minimalist but advanced appearance. Master Chief had been briefed, but seeing it in person made him consider its real value on the battlefield.

"Chief," Commander Palmer's voice crackled through his comms. "Meet your new AI support."

A small green light flickered on the sphere's exterior as it floated closer to Master Chief, its levitation system barely making a sound.

"This unit has been developed after analyzing the Monitor tech from Installation 07," Palmer continued. "It can navigate chutes, tight spaces, unlock doors, and cut through most materials with an integrated laser. Think of it as your own mini-engineer."

"Does it have a name?" Master Chief asked, eyeing the sphere as it bobbed near his shoulder.

"For now, it's just codename 'Sphere,' but your new AI is codenamed 'Kepler.' They've been integrated into this unit."

"Understood."

Kepler’s voice chimed in, clear and neutral. "Reporting for duty, Master Chief. I’m designed for flexibility in combat operations, so feel free to let me know when you need assistance. My laser can also handle light combat situations."

"Good. Stay close, Kepler. We're moving out soon."

Their mission took them deep into the heart of a Covenant-infested facility on a remote moon. The entrance had been easy to breach, but as they delved deeper, it became clear that the Covenant forces had locked down much of the internal structure. Master Chief stood before a sealed blast door, scanning the area for a possible way through.

"I can assist with that, Master Chief," Kepler said.

The sphere zipped forward, finding a small access chute at the top of the doorframe. It hummed as it entered the tight space, vanishing from sight. Master Chief heard faint clicks and electronic whirs as Kepler navigated through the facility’s inner workings. Moments later, the door’s control panel blinked, and the blast door slid open with a heavy groan.

"Door’s open," Kepler confirmed, floating back out of the chute to rejoin Master Chief.

They advanced through the corridors, and when they encountered Covenant resistance, Master Chief handled the heavy firepower, while Kepler darted between cover, using its laser to cut through obstructions or disable smaller automated defenses.

Later, in a large central chamber, they faced a heavily reinforced security system, with force fields blocking access to critical areas. A team of Covenant elites patrolled the perimeter, but Master Chief’s priority was deactivating the security system without alerting them.

"I’ll head into the ducts and access the control panel from the inside," Kepler suggested.

"Do it," Master Chief replied, keeping his weapon trained on the elites.

Kepler darted into the narrow ventilation shaft, moving quickly and quietly through the twisting pipes. Inside, Kepler found the central control hub and deployed its laser, cutting through the metal housing to expose the circuitry. The AI accessed the panel, bypassing Covenant encryption with precision. A moment later, the force fields blinked out.

"Security's down," Kepler reported.

Master Chief moved in, neutralizing the Covenant patrols with swift, calculated strikes. As the last elite fell, Kepler returned to his side, its glowing light indicating readiness for the next challenge.

"Good work, Kepler," Master Chief said.

"Thank you, Master Chief. There are more locked areas ahead, but I’ll keep unlocking doors and clearing paths as we go."

Master Chief and Kepler moved seamlessly through the facility, eliminating Covenant forces and bypassing security systems with precision. The sphere navigated through tight corridors and ventilation ducts, unlocking sealed areas and cutting through obstructions with its laser. Together, they reached the central command center, where Master Chief neutralized the remaining Covenant defenders. With Kepler's support, they accessed the facility’s core and secured critical intel for the UNSC. Their mission complete, they silently exited the compound, leaving behind only the shattered remnants of Covenant resistance.

[hrodvitnon]

'A Tiger and the King' Abraxasverse fic preview (working title)

Here’s your birthdayween present, my friend! :) Two previews of a new short fic I’m working on that centres on Kong and a possible Abraxasverse take on the Spirit Tiger! (And let’s just say for now that my take on the Tiger has more of a history with Kong than being a brief enemy-of-the-week that he curb-stomps and kills. ;))

I was going to publish the full thing for your Hallowbirthday, but I think it needs more work and tidying before I do that, so I decided to provide you with these two sneak previews instead. ;)

It has three POVs: a Monarch operative’s: Kong’s, and the Spirit Tiger’s.

-

Sneak peek #1:

The linguist saw the gate to the village approaching rapidly ahead. The twenty-foot gate of vertical, tightly-packed wooden poles yawned away from the ground to permit the linguist’s low-roofed, armoured, Monarch-marked jeep entry. Beyond the gate was over a hundred feet of human-inhabited and tilled campground, with tents and huts erected. Iwi in their deep-red shawls sat around fires and circles, weaving or cooking or boiling, where the others armed with spears didn’t patrol the tall, wooden walls on the far side of the campground. The Iwi lived so close to the outpost which they had just come from, which was visible over the trees with its own outer-gate a meagre one-hundred feet across hilly, treeless road. The outpost had been built so close to the Iwi’s village precisely to provide them an emergency evacuation point, and additional defence from Monarch’s armed forces, if the worst ever happened.

They, Monarch and their jeeps, came and went to interact with the locals so frequently that only the closest of the Iwi who were outside under Skull Island’s sun bothered to do more than turn their heads briefly as the jeep pulled up in the centre of their primitive village, and even then, the linguist knew that that was just a gesture of respect rather than any real curiosity on the Iwi’s part.

The linguist’s name didn’t matter. They had been working for Monarch for years, ever since the destruction of 2014 when Titans had first been revealed to the world and Monarch recruitment had skyrocketed. As an island unlike any other on Earth, infested with Titan-based creatures, Monarch had a vested interest in accumulating as much knowledge as they could about Skull Island’s past and its inhabitants, from the natives whom had by all estimations likely been a presence on this island for tens of thousands of years.

As the linguist emerged from the jeep, only accompanied by two armed men in case of an emergency at the village’s walls, they looked up at the distant high peaks of the island that loomed distantly far beyond the village’s far wall, tinged orange by the distance, the heat and the sky. The Iwi’s protector, Kong, could sometimes be seen from those particular mountaintops. Gazing down on his kingdom when he patrolled his territory, the linguist had heard, so that he could respond quickly if there was a crisis. That was the Titan behaviourists’ realm of expertise, though, not the linguist’s. The linguist was a people-expert foremost.

Stoic-faced Iwi silently led the linguist to the tent of the particular Iwi who they wanted to see today. He was an older man with a thin, worn face, one who the linguist had spoken to several times before, though not always. He was one of the Iwi who spoke in sign language and a degree of English, as several of the Iwi had done since the 70s expedition had introduced elements of the outside world – the Awati as the Iwi called people from the mainlands – into the island that had been a once-pristine relic of a primordial world. He was the Iwi who told them the most about the Iwi’s tales of the island’s past with other Titans that Kong had fought.

The linguist showed the Iwi elders the pictures that Monarch had taken from a cave on the other side of the island. Paintings in the rock, faded with age, but verified by the archaeologists to be the handiwork of Iwi. Images depicting Kong and one of his kind, and also depicting something else. In all of the ancient paintings, the Kong (always one, which had led most of Monarch at the outpost to personally suspect that it was indeed the Kong rather than one of his deceased forebears) was clashing with a beast that resembled a giant cat, painted to be close to him in size – which was foreboding, given how large a full-fledged Titan like Kong was by the standards of Skull Island’s known species – baring its teeth and claws. Monarch didn’t have any species like this on record, though the linguist was were hopeful that the Iwi before them would know more.

The Iwi didn’t always share everything they knew with Monarch. They were always welcoming and accommodating to Monarch, but sometimes, they just flat-out wouldn’t answer Monarch’s questions. The linguist had heard one of the higher-ups muse that perhaps the Iwi knew that there were some things they, the so-called Awati, weren’t equipped to know, especially after all the trouble their first two island expeditions had caused. The first expedition had awakened Skullcrawlers and endangered Kong back in ’73. The second, rogue expedition had gotten the Iwi’s largest village at the wreck of the Wanderer decimated. Even the brief surge in chaos that had engulfed the island’s ecosystem during the Mass Awakening could be traced back to the actions of Awati, when Dr. Emma Russell and Alan Jonah had freed Ghidorah from the Antarctic ice, although the Iwi didn’t know that as far as the linguist was aware – but it supported the point regardless. This time, however, the Iwi did share what they knew of these images.

-

Sneak peek #2:

Kong’s realm, his living and breathing realm bordered by endless water in every direction, had periods of quiet and it had periods of discord. When it was quiet, as it was now, most was stable and what waking threats moved on the realm were easily killable for Kong. As he’d grown older and stronger, the quiet periods had grown longer and the discordant periods shorter, though the latter still broke up the monotony in short, brutal bursts of rage and death and bloodshed, like when the Greatest Deep Dweller had emerged from the hollows some uncounted many moons ago.

Kong hunted, ate and patrolled his realm, and he returned to the high ridge on the mountain where he could overlook most of his realm and intervene quickly if need be. The hollows where new, dangerous things like the Deep Dwellers and other, newer enemies crawled up were quiet. The little ones – both the ones that had been his as far back as he could remember and the newer ones with their strange-smelling metal and their little flames – were at peace, whispering their meaningless-sounding words amongst themselves. They had no need of his intervention, and Kong gladly kept his distance – he knew too well the harm he could do to the little things without even trying, such was the disparity between him and them. He patrolled again before the sun sank and its smaller, silver counterpart the moon rose in the sky along with the night’s greenish lights.

Kong slept. And he dreamed. His unconscious subconscious worked away, toiling over old memories that he hadn’t thought about in years.

---

YOOOO, NICE! Thank you, this looks good so far! 

[headingalaxys-spicy]

I have arisen from my deep slumber 😌

Could I request a part 2 for the Yandere Bully America ask? I like these kind of dynamics, which I also have discovered in another tumblr blog a few months ago, where America is being a total douche to the new country. I think their name was llamacup or something like that.

Anyway, have a nice day or night, thank you~

🥹😘

Hello there it’s 2023 and I’m filled with DETERMINATION ahahaha.

I want to answer all my story posts this year! 🌟

Tw: Death-of minor characters and torture.

✨⭐️Happy First Friday of the year⭐️✨

“You’ll never see the light of day again,” was a promise that hasn’t been broken.

Darkness became your new muse for crafting your mindset in captivity. Fear was on the loudspeaker having your mind teeter on the edge. When would you hear the dreaded clicks of his oxford loafers on the marble floor? Anxiety permeated your nervous system causing you to tremble like a neverending earthquake. How did things get this bad? Why, you? Why did it have to be you?

You felt hollow and sullen like a decaying tree succumbing to an infestation of black turpentine beetles. This is already after America stormed into your life like a hurricane and damaged you and your nation permanently with his supreme act of violence against you and Britain at the world meeting.

However while you may have been in captivity your love was not.

“Mr. Kirkland, how would you like us to give you some added assistance? We don’t have our duties at the palace today.” Some of his loyal long-time palace guards wanted to join in on Operation: Silent Alarm.

The messy golden haired blonde ceased his hurried pace towards the black Audi A1 car headed to the airport.

“It’s quite alright, gentlemen. I already have some of my best men with a solid plan to rescue Y/N.”

“Oh come on lad. You know that brute will definitely try to kill ye again. We can be a great backup after all we are trained and well equipped with weapons.”

Arthur couldn’t help but allow a small smile to form on his normally grumpy face. He loved how dedicated some of his people were to him and his royals. He still had to be as discreet as possible in order to get under that crafty American’s nose. It took him a few months in order to finally locate (Country Name). The bastard had her imprisoned in the New Hampshire wilderness underground in an elaborate labyrinth Alfred created back in the 60’s. He also had his pesky guards and security system to break through. Thankfully MI6 was more than ready to deal with this.

He again turned their offer down but requested that they be ready for him and his return with you. He would not be leaving without you. They relented and allowed him to leave so that the mission could begin. Arthur pressed the small button on his discreet earpiece.

“Testing operatives lavender and thyme do you read me? Have the both of you successfully landed in D.C. to carry on negotiations?”

A few moments drifted by while the diver started the car while Artheur continued to make sure all the pieces were in place for his rescue operation.

He waited tensely as he waited for a reply.

“Yes, operative Bluebell. We’ll let you know if we’ve located the Burger Man.”

“Copy that. Tally ho. To save y/n here we go.” Like a soldier getting ready to lead the charge on horseback Arthur sprints to his private jet that would take him just outside of Pittsberg, NH.

*******

After laying down in your own tears and mucus for what felt like a few minutes you lift your head up to look at the somewhat barren room you were confined to. It had the basics of what America thought you’d like to keep you entertained while you’re in captivity. A TV that had basic cable, Youtube, and Netflix. A plain (favorite color) journal, a stack of comic books and manga, art supplies, and a few old books that he clearly pulled from his attic in an attempt to try to find more things to entertain you since he plans on living the rest of your existence out in that tiny room.

You were beginning to go Stir-crazy from being confined for so long. Your only comfort was a man that you considered to be a monster that was crafted from a Stephen King novel. Your life became to that of a drawn out horror movie except the only difference is that the monster had taken a liking to you and fucked your brains out on numerous occasions.

“Damn it.” You spat in frustration. You growl under your breath, you wish the mental anguish would simply fade away. You begin to pace back and forth in your room. You listened carefully to the soft crunch of the marshmallow-like carpet given away under your feet. As you continued to do this for hours you eventually heard a few peculiar sounds that piqued your interest. At first you ignored it considering that what you were hearing was nothing more than maybe America or one of his staff milling about through the… where ever the fuck you were. Not that it mattered. No one could hear you nor could anyone-

The flatscreen TV that's mounted to your wall suddenly sparked to life. It startled you and you quickly jumped up in the air like a cat that’s seen a cucumber and flung yourself onto your plush bed and shielded yourself with your (favorite color) duvet.

“OH SHIT!”

“Y/N, Y/N do you can you hear me?” A familiar British accent called out from the screen.

With heavy drawn in breaths that filled your lungs it took you a few moments for your brain to recognize that it wasn’t the monster….

“Y/N?” He says much more gently this time. As if calling out to a severely injured dog. The tone was heavy with sadness. “Y/N… please …I hope you can hear me.”

A few tears pricked your eyes. His voice was the only thing that sounded like a daydream after being in this watered down version of hell.

“A…Arthur?” You say in a weak hoarse voice. There was still a voice in your mind screaming that it was a trick, a facade, a cruel prank that America was playing. All of the alarms in your brain were going off in a blaring symphony of panic. You were too afraid to remove your cover still and your shaking had begun again.

Silence hung over the room. You dared not to speak again.

Arthur stared at his screen that allowed him to see where you’d been imprisoned. He knew he had seen your slightly battered form run for the covers. He knew full well that you were not in the best headspace for any human nor country to be in. But he still had to try, because being left to America he'll surely turn you into a completely different country. You’d be unrecognizable. He tried not to think about all the ways that you’d change and did his best to put the images of you being America’s wife out of his mind.

Arthur called out once more with his voice cracking, this time you finally decide to take a peak from your massive duvet and look at the screen to see those dazzling emerald eyes. They were coated over with salt water that already began to spill onto his somewhat reddened cheeks.

“Oh my god it really is you. But…”

“Listen , Y/N we’ll save the heartfelt conversations for later. Let’s concentrate on getting you out of here. Within the next 30 seconds I need you to push your nightstand aside. One of my agents has constructed a tunnel that will lead you to the East and into the forest where I’ll be. I just need you to stay calm and….. It’s going to be okay.” He reassures you. Judging by the tension that you had in your face and the terror pouring from your eyes he knew he had to be more verbally accommodating to you in your fragile state.

‘Definitely going to ask France to make us a nice meal and I’ll actually have to be nice to get him to do it. Y/N is in some desperate need of pampering and escapism after this.’ He mused to himself.

You were still shaking tremendously. You hadn’t even registered his words in order to take action. However the agent Rosemary had reached you and effortlessly moved the nightstand from the hidden entrance that crumbled.

“(Country name)?” The agent calls out from the hidden tunnel. “Hurry, we have to get out of here. The guards are distracted but some of the other personnel will come to check on you and we have to allow the decoy take over for you before-”

Numerous footsteps pounding against the marble floor swarmed through the labyrinth. They began to draw nearer to your room.

“Y/N I promise it will be okay just listen to agent Rosemary. She’ll get you out of there safe and sound.”

“What are you guys going to use as a decoy?” Curious as to what your British love interest was scheming.

“This love.” A realistic hologram of you sprung to life from the screen. It was realistic. “Now tally ho. Get the hell out of there!” His transmission ends while your hologram continues to be projected through the screen. It wouldn’t be long before America’s guards figured out that it wasn’t you.

“My lady.” Rosemary pushed you into the escape route and you began to crawl for your life. With the agent right behind you couldn’t help but feel the tension that was in the pit of your stomach and made you somewhat nauseous. You had to cling to the fresher memory of Arthur in your mind to continue your escape and not be caught.

You had to get back to him you were determined to.

*******

In Washington, D.C. Burger Man I mean America was in a deadlock debate with Lavender and Thyme over trade deals. Agent Thyme’s golden hair swished violently as he pounded his fist against the table in heated debate with America.

“You can’t just harbor a personification and then begin a hostile takeover of their government and start spreading your propaganda like some twisted infestation! It’s illegal first and foremost. And second it VIOLATES THE ENTIRE BLOODY UNITED NATIONS CHARTER! And you’re supposed to be a LEADER?! You act like such a petulant child!”

“Funny that comes from a man that had more than half the world in the palm of his hand. How dare you insult me in my own senate.” He hissed back at England in pure defiance.

(they die at the end.)

“You’re acting like a super villain in one of your stupid comic books that you melt your already stupid brain with.”

The verdant versus aqua eyes collided with one another. Neither was the type to let their pride down. The air was tense with a thousand needles and no one wanted to be caught in the crosshairs. Teeth biting, nervous shifting, and over hundreds of eyes witnessing the showdown between two sworn enemies since the betrayal. Some cracked their knuckles to at least relieve some tension that was broiling within the room. America had reached the point where negotiations were at a stalemate and….

America’s earpiece beeped in his ear and although his facial expression stayed neutral and as distant as the moon. His eyes bled out with rage and stared out at ‘England’ with a look that was meant to obliterate one within mere milliseconds. He stood up suddenly as if a giant had been awoken from a peaceful slumber and was in a terrible mood.

He snapped his fingers.

Secret service surrounded Thyme and Lavender. The ruse was up.

“Kill them. Right here. Right now. They’re fakes.” America ordered.

“It was a pleasure working with you, Lavender.” The spell that Arthur originally put onto him wore off and their true identities were revealed. They raised their hands high into the air.

“We did our duty.” Lavender uttered her last words she’d ever speak in this world.

A few hundred rounds were fired off within seconds filling the air with deathly gunpowder. Two less souls came out of the senate that day. The monster raged through the White House all night. It was a scene straight out of hell. Glass broke, things set ablaze, people injured, and some even parished. The only thing that most who were in earshot of the White House could hear

Y/N HOW DARE YOU!

UK I WILL KILL YOU!

Y/N IS MINE!

Then just more hellish shrieks would follow. No one really wanted to question what was going on for fear they would be caught up in the chaos. They stayed away and allowed it to happen.

*******

For the first time in a while Y/N could rest peacefully without having a horrid lucid nightmare that would only bring her down deeper into depression. She finally felt okay for a moment between England’s athletic arms. She actually got to sleep and recharge her broken soul.

“Is everything going to be alright Arthur?” Your anxieties are still nibbling at the back of your ears. It was nice that you could talk to him but you still feared that he’d leave you because you’re damaged and neurotic. A ball of untamable wild energy that no one would want to deal with.

“Y/N it’s okay. I want you to relax. I won’t leave you. I won’t harm you like America. I promise.” He kissed the back of your collarbone. You felt a million bright butterflies fly from that area and through your entire being you felt relieved and could live in the moment. You felt relaxed and safe. Nothing could ruin this for you. You melted like hot butter in Arthur’s arms. You didn’t want to think, just feel. Nothing else mattered.

Except for the brewing storm that was brewing from across the pond.

[rainbowgod666]

GIRLS NIGHT IN 40K!

Celestine: look, i get it. You're solidified heresy and have to live with the fact that you entire existence is due to one too many Eldars deciding to beat their meat twice instead of once that day, isha is one of the eldar gods that you "missed". So I understand-

Slaneesh: Alex's corruption got to her.

*collective silence*

Slaneesh: (sits down... why is she shaken?)

Slaneesh: listen. I have NO IDEA what happened back at nurgle's place.

Slaneesh: i am the whisper. Temptation incarnate. Not to make a 40000 year old joke, but I am the one who knocks you were just asking. I am the fucking Quaestor. I am She. Who. Thirsts.

Slaneesh: and i wish every day i didnt even know of that door.

I need you to listen extremely carefully to what im going to say.

Isha is dead. She stopped being isha so much time ago that when Alex appeared in this universe, something snapped. Hard.

I stared her in the eyes. That deep sickness unlike anything nurgle could make, the sheer feeling of hopelessness, death and decay beyond all hopes of rebirth... all within eyes darker than black holes with only a red dot telling me that they werent empty... the worst thing was the smile- it was less the caring, motherly warmth of a fertility goddess and closer to a precise cut RESEMBLING a smile... something that struck me with ONE emotions mortals know all too well

Fear.

Slaneesh: (holds yvraines hand inbher hands) listen. When your people will finally decide to take the 5th blade, i shall give it to them personally. I am NOT living in a universe where that... sick, multi-limbed manifestation of the word mistake Mistake is infesting the warp. When i asked nurgle about isha after that, he looked at me and realized what i saw. Grandpa nurgle is not holding isha hostage, rather, hes holding her caged to avoid something closer to a servitor going insane on a galactic scale.

Slaneesh: (she is crying.) If Ynnead finally wakes up, PLEASE. Tell him about this. Tell him tot ake my power. Plead to him to save us from whatever the fuck has isha become

Slaneeah: if its still isha in there.

*everyone is flabbergasted*

Celestine: that... doesnt make any sense? Why would Alex do that? Heck, why would ANY Alex my shards do that? What could isha do for him?

Slannesh: heh. Funny you ask. When that happened, i recall one thing

Slaneesh: Alex was there, at least as a spirit. He was doing something to isha and... he stared at me, and the words were loud and clear even if he didnt say or do anything towards me: HELP ME SAVE HER.

Slaneesh: it was a fucking hallway of silent screaming. And im not gonna experience that, or subject anything to that. Whatever the fuck isha became, it made me feel like mortals usually feel in the warp, and It. Was. AWFUL.

____________________________________________

To this day, the project "mother of all monsters" is still operative. Any information of how the entity came to be can be found in universe SCP-ℵ₀ (Main SCP branch) under level 5. Additional data is stored as written books in a separate minecraft server running the 1.12.2 version. Any and all unauthorized operations in universe 40K-ℵ₀ require direct approval from The Council.

[saiilorstars]

ch.9: And It All Came Crashing Down

Steve Rogers x OFC fic • squeeze your eyes for a Bucky Barnes x (2nd) OFC

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Story Masterlist • Seren’s Masterlist• Chloe’s Masterlist​​

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Steve followed Rumlow all the way to SHIELD dead silent, not having anything to say despite Rumlow's subtle attempts to get him talking. Knowing what he knew now, Steve knew that SHIELD was not the place to be honest. It was infested with liars and moles and double intentions and the worst part is that he didn't know who was who. He couldn't take the chance right now. Chloe was on the verge of a mental breakdown and Seren was only just escaping death now. Natasha was still in the gray area, truthfully.

He got into his stealth suit, his intuition just telling him it was better to be prepared in case anything happened. He was led to Alexander Pierce himself who was talking to a very familiar agent (just another reminder of the lies).

Sharon turned to leave Pierce and regarded Steve politely, even asking him how Seren was doing. Only out of gratitude for helping him save Seren, he answered her. He still kept his tone short and he did not look at her. Luckily, Sharon took the hint and continued on her way.

"How is Agent Soul?" Pierce asked once they were alone.

"Doing better now," Steve replied. She was practically kicking to get out of bed and back to work; she was back to her normal self. Still, he didn't add anything extra. He remembered Seren mentioning that the World Council wasn't exactly fond of her and her work.

"Good, that's good," Pierce nodded, leaving behind the subject soon after. "Well, I know introductions aren't very well needed from your end but I'm Alexander Pierce." He shook hands with Steve.

"It's an honor," Steve said quietly. What else could he say?

"The honor is mine, Captain. My father served in the 101st. Come on in." He led Steve inside his office and soon showed him a photo of himself with Fury. "That photo was taken five years after Nick and I met. When I was at the State Department in Bogota. ELN rebels took the embassy, and security got me out, but the rebels took hostages. Nick was deputy chief for the SHIELD station there. And he comes to me with a plan. He wants to storm the building through the sewers. I said, 'No, we'll negotiate' Turned out the ELN didn't negotiate, so they put out a kill order. They stormed the basement, and what did they find? They find it empty. Nick had ignored my direct order and carried out an unauthorized military operation on foreign soil. He saved the lives of a dozen political officers, including my daughter."

Not telling someone what he was going to actually do sounded exactly like something Nick Fury would do. "So you gave him a promotion."

"I've never had any cause to regret it. Captain, why was Nick in your apartment last night?"

Well, at least Pierce was direct. Steve would give him that.

"I don't know," Steve replied.

"You know he had the apartment bugged at one point?" Pierce saw the horrified look on Steve's face and took it as the answer. "Agent Winters made him take it down but Fury only allowed it on the condition that special Agent 13 take up an undercover post next door."

"That I knew," Steve said, "Because Agent Soul informed me once she found out."

"Mm…" Pierce didn't seem that surprised. Steve suspected that Seren's inability to fall in line with the lying part of the job is what made her undesirable in Pierce's mind. "I want you to see something." Pierce picked up a tablet on his desk and showed Steve footage of Batroc in an interrogation room.

"Is that live?" Steve asked, genuinely curious as he watched a SHIELD agent painlessly try to get information out of the man.

"Yeah, they picked him up last night in a not-so-safe house in Algiers."

"Are you saying he's a suspect? Assassination isn't Batroc's line."

"No, it's more complicated than that. Batroc was hired anonymously to attack the Lemurian Star and he was contacted by e-mail and paid by wire transfer. And then the money was run through seventeen fictitious accounts, the last one going to a holding company that was registered to a Jacob Veech."

"Am I supposed to know who that is?" Steve said just as Pierce handed him a file.

"Not likely. Veech died six years ago. His last address was 14-35 Elmhurst Drive. When I first met Nick, his mother lived at 14-37."

It took only a second for Steve to realize what Pierce was getting at. "Are you…are you saying Fury hired the pirates? Why?"

"The prevailing theory was that the hijacking was a cover for the acquisition and sale of classified intelligence. The sale went sour and that led to Nick's death."

And as much as Steve was irritated with Fury, he just couldn't see that being the reason. Fury was everything you believed, except a traitor. "If you really knew Nick Fury you'd know that's not true."

"Why do you think we're talking? See, I took a seat on the Council not because I wanted to but because Nick asked me to, because we were both realists. We knew that despite all the diplomacy and the handshaking and the rhetoric, that to build a really better world sometimes means having to tear the old one down. And that makes enemies. Those people that call you dirty because you got the guts to stick your hands in the mud and try to build something better. And the idea that those people could be happy today, makes me really, really angry. Captain, you were the last one to see Nick alive. I don't think that's an accident, and I don't think you do either. So I'm gonna ask again, why was he there?"

"He told me not to trust anyone," Steve said, "As well as Agent Winters."

"Mm, I wonder if that included them both," Pierce said with a small frown. "Agent Winters was also asked to make herself present." Steve started noting the growing irritation in the man's voice. "She takes too much liberty just because she's under — was under — Fury's direct orders."

"I asked her to stay with Agent Soul," Steve said, now really patting himself on the back for making Chloe stay behind. Something wasn't sitting right anymore and the further away they were from SHIELD, the better. "I'm sorry. Those were his last words. Excuse me." Something in his mind was yelling at him to get back to the hospital as fast as possible.

"Captain," Pierce's call stopped Steve by the door. "Somebody murdered my friend and I'm gonna find out why. Anyone gets in my way, they're gonna regret it. Anyone. Tell Agent Winters to report herself immediately."

Steve nodded. "Understood." Not in this lifetime. He picked up his pace down the hall to leave.

~ 0 ~

Seren was done lying down. As much as Chloe told her not to, Seren pushed herself into a sitting position on the bed. She wasn't stupid. She took the opportunity as soon as Natasha stepped out of the room for a moment.

"Alright Chloe, whatever you need to say, say it now or I swear to God that I'm gonna get out of this bed right now!"

"Seren, please don't over-exert yourself," Chloe came around Seren's bedside to get her to lie back down but unfortunately, she was no Steve Rogers and so Seren easily shoved her away.

"Enough with that!" Seren practically yelled. "I am not lying back down, I am not just going to stay here and do nothing while God knows what is happening out there!"

Chloe panicked when Seren started swinging her legs to the side of the bed with all the intentions of getting up. "Okay, okay, okay!" Chloe threw her hands in front of her. "I'll talk but just — put your — please stay in bed!"

"Then talk," Seren said through gritted teeth. "Who the hell killed Nick?"

"I-I'm pretty sure it was the Ghost—"

"I don't know who the hell this 'Ghost' is!" snapped Seren. "But I'm willing to bet that you already told Steve because he had this look on his face that I..." She shook her head. "And I'm trying not to feel offended because we've known each other longer than you've known him."

Chloe sighed and started pacing in front of the bed. "It's not good, Seren. It's really not good."

"I can tell," Seren said, gesturing to Chloe's current act. "What is going on?"

Chloe stopped pacing for a moment to meet Seren's waiting eyes. Her stomach was in knots. Steve was right, she had to tell Seren everything but how? Years worth of secrets were about to come to the surface and all of them were going to hurt her best friend. "You know that I'm very grateful with you, right?"

Seren sighed. She knew a tactic when she saw one. "Yes..."

Chloe licked her upper lip nervously. "Then you know that no matter what, I do not regret meeting you."

Seren raised an eyebrow at Chloe. "Why do you say that?"

"You have to understand that if I didn't say anything before is because I truly thought — I truly believed — that keeping you in the dark was the better option. I didn't want to put you in more danger and I just didn't want to disillusion you with something that has been your entire life."

"'Disillusion'?" Seren frowned. "Why-why do you say that? What didn't you tell me about?"

"Just remember that no matter what, it wasn't all fake and that there are people who truly adore you and appreciate all your work," Chloe said, stopping her pacing to face Seren. "Like me—"

"Chloe—"

"—and Natasha, Fury, definitely Steve—"

"CHLOE!"

"There's moles in SHIELD!" Chloe blurted and for a long while, there was nothing but silence.

Seren's lips parted as she gasped with Chloe's words. Very slowly, but surely, her eyebrows pinched together and her nose scrunched. "What the hell did you just say?"

Chloe passed her hands through her hair, hoping that she wasn't going to sound as crazy as the story was. "There are moles in SHIELD. Too many to count and we don't know who's one and who's not except for me, obviously you and Steve, then Natasha and Maria. Fury, of course is a given."

"What?" Seren glanced at her monitoring machine and wondered if the meds had affected her hearing.

"It's true, I swear," Chloe said once she realized what Seren was thinking. "There's moles within SHIELD and some of them, or maybe all of them, have been trying to hurt me ever since I joined."

Seren's eyes flickered to Chloe. "Excuse me?"

Chloe sighed. "Ever since I joined S.H.I.E.L.D., somebody—people—have been stalking me. In the beginning, they tried to kill me but then they stopped. They just...watched. I knew they were there, no matter how much I traveled. They wanted to kidnap me, I knew it. There were subtle attempts but they hadn't tried to kill me anymore until today."

"Oh my God, I am going insane..." Seren went to rip out her monitors from her fingers when Chloe pushed her hands away.

"No, stop! I'm telling you the truth!"

"What!?" Seren exclaimed. "You're telling me that the place I have worked for since I was a��kid, basically, is filled with liars and murderers!? Stalkers!?" There was absolutely no way to describe what she felt and Chloe was conscious enough of the fact to not be offended that for a split moment, Seren didn't believe her. "I-I have worked there my entire life. I have—"

"I know," Chloe sighed. "You have given so much to...to people who didn't deserve it. And you have no idea how sorry I am—"

"No," Seren gritted her teeth. "This isn't...this isn't happening, no." She shook her head.

"I would have told you but...Fury thought it would be best to keep the circle between just us."

"Fury?" Seren frowned. "He did this?"

"He helped me, Seren," Chloe said before Seren started throwing any accusations around. "He made sure that only he knew the exact locations of my missions. It's why they were always spontaneous and all over the world. He had to keep the moles out my business."

And then something struck Seren's mind, something that she had dismissed because she felt compeltely awful for ever doubting in the first place...

"Do you realize that you've been working here for years and you didn't even know that your Agent Winters has little, almost nothing, to prove that she actually works for S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

"That's impossible," Seren said flatly. "I've written reports about Chloe over her time here. In fact, I was the one who brought her to S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place. I've seen her grow up from a teenager into a young woman."

"Yeah? Well there's nothing to show for it."

"Stark knew..." Seren mumbled. Her hands fell one either side of her and gripped the bed. "Stark told me this the first time we met. He told me...he told me that your record had very little to show that...that you worked for SHIELD." She raised her head to see Chloe's guilt-riddened face. "And then I went—" she pointed at herself, "—and got your file out and it was—"

Chloe nodded. "It was filled with all your reports about me." Seren was shell-shocked. "Yeah, I...I knew that would happen. Fury, he...he—"

"He fixed it," Seren said sharp enough to make Chloe wince. "He lied. Oh my God..." She brought her hands up to her hair. "I hate liars and you...you have been lying to me for years?"

"Seren, I didn't want to, I was...I was scared. I'm sorry!" Chloe swallowed hard. "I truly thought that this was the only way to keep you and everyone else safe. It's why I never contacted my parents again, why I kept my visits to my aunt and cousin very short. But I never thought that...that they would try to hurt you."

"What?"

"It was a mistake of targets. Seren, the cyanide poison was meant for me, not you. My chocolates were poisoned, I know they were. They had to be. Cyanide kills humans. You just got lucky you're not entirely human."

"Cyanide poisoning can be reversed if treated on time," Seren recited by memory. "SHIELD is very thorough with training. That's the training I was taking as a frikin teenager. Because that's where my life has been..." She didn't want them but tears were pooling in her eyes. "They were trying to kill you...or kidnap you..."

"It's the tech piece and the Hive Mind," Chloe said quietly, her own eyes glistening with tears. "It's gotta be. I touched something I shouldn't have and the people who owned the tech want it back. There's always been something wrong but we never had the evidence to support it."

"You could have said something," Seren gritted her teeth. "I have always defended S.H.I.E.L.D. from everyone, including my own family! And now they may actually be right!?"

"I'm really sorry Seren—"

Seren raised a finger to stop Chloe. "You have been lying to me for years?" Chloe nodded silently. Seren brought her hands to her forehead, pulling back her hair as she took in a deep breath. "I brought you in...I wanted you to be safe. But instead I brought you into more danger…"

"Seren, it's not your fault," Chloe quickly said. "You are the least culpable party in this. Whatever has happened at S.H.I.E.L.D….you have always been the best of it. You...you're Stardust. You saved my life—"

"Oh, really?"

"Yes!" Chloe exclaimed. "Because if you hadn't found me, those people might have kidnapped me a long time ago. I may not have made it."

Seren stayed quiet. Chloe looked close to crumbling. She looked far younger today, almost like the 17 year old she found in the abandoned building. But she was also furious. She was furious at everything around her.

"I'm sorry, Seren," Chloe sniffed. "I know I shouldn't beg you not to be angry with me because I deserve it. I deserve your anger but you're the only person I have who I can really trust. My family hates me and I can't imagine where I'll be if you end up hating me too!" She got down on her knees in front of Seren and grabbed both her hands. "I'm sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Seren was gently pulled with Chloe's sobs but she didn't say anything. She was speechless, and yet her mind was spiraling with so many different thoughts and feelings. The whole time she thought she was doing something good for the world, she could have been doing someone's dirty work instead. She gave up so many years of her life — some would say her entire life — and now she comes to learn that it was all for nothing?

"Chloe, get up," she ordered. "First of all, it's a hospital, the floors are disgusting — get up." She shook her hands until it forced Chloe to get back up.

Chloe's entire face was stained with tears. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry. You have every right to hate me."

"I don't..." Seren let out a heavy breath. "I don't hate you, Chloe. I can't. But that doesn't mean that I'm happy with you right now. Or anyone else for that matter."

Chloe wiped her tears with the backs of her hands. "You should only be mad at me. Nobody else knew, except for Fury of course."

"And Natasha? What about Steve? I mean, that is why you two were acting so strange before he left."

"Oh God no!" Chloe panicked when she saw new ire flash across Seren's eyes. "Neither of them knew! I just told Steve the truth and that was only because he and Natasha basically cornered me. But I swear that Steve didn't lie to you. He told me that...that I had to tell you. Either I did, or he would. Don't get mad at him because of what I did."

Seren swallowed hard. "He didn't lie?"

"No," Chloe said, quickly bending down in front of Seren again. She took both of Seren's hands in hers. "God, everything is already so wrong, I don't want to ruin anything else for you."

As angry as Seren was, and she was, she couldn't help the heavy feeling that settled in her stomach knowing what she knew now. "That...that's my entire life," she whispered. "My whole life has always been about SHIELD. All the countless arguments with my parents...my mother and my grandmother hate each other because of this. Because of me...because I worked for them..."

Chloe began to shake her head. "N-n-n-no, this isn't on you. It's not even on Atria. Some bad people decided to infiltrate something that was supposed to be good."

"Yeah, but..." Seren's expression began to crack and suddenly the anger that was once there was quickly being replaced with anguish. "Chloe, that's been my life! My—my—!"

Chloe started to hear the monitor beeping and realized Seren's pressure was rising. "Oh God, Seren you have to calm down!"

"I can't!" Seren cried. "SHIELD is a whole lie! You've been — you've been stalked for years, almost killed! Everything I know is a lie!" And then she panicked when she thought about the implications it meant for others. "Oh my God!" Her eyes widened. "My parents! My-my phone! Where's my phone!? I have to tell them what's happening!"

Chloe continued to hear the monitor practically raging at this point. "Seren, I'm begging you to calm down! You're still not completely well—"

"I DON'T CARE!" Seren then looked at her hands and started ripping off any monitors attached to her.

"No! Stop that!" Chloe hurried to put things back on her but she was no match against Seren's strength. Seren would push her hands away every time and rage about her phone and getting to talk with her parents.

Natasha came rushing in with a 'what the hell is going on?' and immediately went to help Chloe put Seren down. "God, Winters, what the hell!?" Natasha couldn't help but blame Chloe just a little bit. "She's supposed to be taking it easy—"

"I know!" Chloe exclaimed, already ridden with guilt about everything else. "But she's—"

"Screw this, and sorry in advance, Seren!" Natasha quit trying and ran out of the room again.

"Get off me! Get off!" Seren continued to yell against Chloe's hands. A few seconds later, her fears returned in full-fledged form as a few nurses came rushing into the room. "N-n-n-n-n-no!" She immediately pulled her hands away from Chloe.

"Wait, wait—" Chloe was shoved to the side by one of the nurses and as she tried moving on them again, Natasha came back inside. "Natasha, what—"

"It's for her own good!" Natasha said, yanking Chloe to her side.

"That's for her own good?" Chloe said incredulously, gesturing towards the chaotic scene of nurses trying to put Seren down.

Seren screamed and thrashed against the nurses, begging for them to leave her alone. One of the nurses managed to inject her with a sedative and little by little, the cries and thrashes slowed. Seren's words slurred and finally, she fell unconscious.

Chloe felt completely awful. As soon as the nurses left, she hurried to Seren's bedside. "I did this...I did this to her...I told her everything..."

"Gave her a crisis," Natasha said, coming up to the foot of the bed. Chloe glared at her. "Don't look at me like that, Winters. She was going to have a whole breakdown and neither you nor I are strong enough to keep her down."

"What are we going to tell Steve when he comes back and he sees this?"

Natasha shrugged. "Exactly what I just said. I'm sure he'd rather have her here then rampaging down the block in her state. Besides, Seren's metabolism runs faster so the sedative won't last as long."

"And if she wakes up in another crisis?"

"Then we'll do the same thing."

Chloe ran a hand from her forehead through her hair. "This isn't how things were supposed to go. What the hell do we do now? I'm supposed to go to SHIELD..."

"No you're not. Not until Steve gets back and we know exactly what's going on. Until then grab a chair and make yourself comfortable." Natasha started making her way out of the room when Chloe called to her.

"What are you going to do?"

"Get a snack," Natasha said, "Maybe some gum," she said before disappearing.

Chloe had no idea what to do so she grabbed the chair in the room and pulled it close to Seren's bedside and sunk down.

~ 0 ~

Lately, Steve felt like he was running faster than ever. He couldn't reach the hospital any sooner and he had done everything to get there as fast as possible. He practically fled SHIELD and to avoid any trackers on him, he abandoned his stealth suit and grabbed some normal clothes. He wanted to appear normal but that was impossible given how he dashed down the corridors. He couldn't help it.

SHIELD was coming after him and no doubt Chloe. And where was Chloe right now? With Seren.

His anxiety calmed for a brief moment when he saw Natasha standing outside Seren's room keeping guard. He gave her a slight nod then stopped at the vending machine just two doors down. He looked down at the choices and...panicked. The USB he'd stuck in there wasn't there anymore. Before he could even think about where it went, he heard footsteps draw behind him followed by the distinct sound of bubblegum popping. He looked up and saw Natasha's reflection on the vending machine. She blew a bright pink bubble with her gum and popped it like nothing.

After everything he'd gone through, everything his friends and girlfriend went through...Steve snapped.

He whirled around and seized Natasha's arm. He dragged her down the end of the hall and shoved her into one of the small break rooms, straight up against the wall. "Where is it!?" He demanded.

Even through all that, Natasha wasn't at all phased. "Safe," she barely uttered when Steve slammed her on the wall again.

"Do better!"

Natasha had never seen him that irate about something, nor that aggressive. "Where'd you get it?" She said curiously. Her mind was working up some plausible reasons for this behavior. "What happened at SHIELD?"

Steve towered over her. "Why would I tell you?" He was well aware that she was studying his new change of clothes.

"Fury gave it to you," she worked it out. "But why?"

"What's on it?"

"I don't know—"

"Stop lying!" Steve snapped through gritted teeth.

"I only act like I know everything, Rogers!"

"I bet you knew Fury hired the pirates, didn't you?" Of course as soon as he asked the question, Steve knew that she didn't.

For a brief moment, Natasha allowed her bewilderment before she reclaimed her coolness. "Well, it makes sense. The ship was dirty, Fury needed a way in, so do you."

"I'm not gonna ask you again…too many people have been hurt because you all keep lying."

"It's a game, Rogers. We all have to play it in this line of work."

"Not everyone," Steve said, eyeing her until she admitted that the 'game' had not been played by every single employee.

Natasha barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "We get it. You like Soul."

"Natasha, I swear to God—"

"I know who killed Fury." The certainly in Natasha's tone brought Steve to a pause. "So does Winters, she just doesn't know it."

Steve's brows furrowed. "The Ghost?"

Natasha nodded. "Winters told me everything and I realized who she was talking about. Most of the intelligence community doesn't believe he exists, the ones who do call him the Winter Soldier. He's credited with over two dozen assassinations in the last fifty years."

"So he is a ghost. A ghost story," Steve almost rolled his eyes. He needed facts right now, not stories.

"Don't be fooled," Natasha said. "Five years ago I was escorting a nuclear engineer out of Iran, somebody shot out my tires near Odessa. We lost control, went straight over a cliff, I pulled us out, but the Winter Soldier was there. I was covering my engineer, so he shot him straight through me." Natasha lifted part of her shirt to reveal a scar on the side of her stomach. It couldn't be faked. "Soviet slug, no rifling. Bye-bye bikinis."

Steve was dead silent. She wasn't a mole. "Yeah..." he stepped back from her, "I bet you look terrible in them now."

Natasha wanted to smile. "Going after him is a dead end. I know, I've tried." She raised the USB for him to take. "Like you said, he's a ghost story."

Steve took the USB from her. "Well, let's find out what the ghost wants. I'm pretty sure it has to involve, at least partly, a scared blonde with an alien tech piece in her head. Stalking her?"

Natasha shrugged. "First step in a long plan."

"Maybe. But I'm not interested in learning what the next step is."

"What happened at SHIELD?" Natasha made a clear point of looking Steve over with his clothes. She heard him sigh. "Not good?"

"Very," Steve said, letting his head hang low. "Chloe can't go back there. I'm going to take her and get out of here before they think to look here."

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "What? And leave Seren here?"

"I hate it but I need to keep her safe and out of this."

"I hate to break it to you but Seren know everything and she didn't take it very well..."

Steve looked at Natasha for a moment. "What do you mean...?"

Natasha didn't say anything but her face spoke volumes. Alarmed, Steve bolted from the break room and hurried down the hall to reach Seren's room. He ran inside and found Chloe sitting beside an unconscious Seren in bed.

"What happened!?" He looked at Chloe who quickly stood up. He moved around her to Seren's side, lowering to her level.

"I told her everything," Chloe said behind him. "And she..."

"She had a breakdown," Natasha finished for her.

Steve wasn't surprised by the news. He was almost mad with himself for not being there when it happened to help Seren get through it. He passed a hand through her hair, sighing to himself. "I'm sorry, Seren." It had to be hard finding out the truth about SHIELD.

"We had to sedate her," Natasha explained. "She was freaking out, trying to get out of here."

"And I'm sure the sight of the doctors must have really helped," Steve said, glancing back at the woman with a slight edge in his face.

"We did what we had to," said Natasha while Chloe ducked her head.

"How long has she been out?"

"Couple hours now. If you want to run, we can wake her."

"Run?" Natasha frowned.

Natasha ignored her and told Steve that Seren metabolized sedations quicker. "Waking her up would speed up the process."

"I don't..." Steve rubbed his forehead. He only had two options and neither of them were sitting well with him. He was supposed to help Seren and neither option would be helping her at all.

"If she wakes up and finds out that you ran without her, she'll never forgive you," Natasha said like she'd read the thought off his head. Steve glared at her, but she shrugged and stuck to her stance.

"Wait, running from what? What is going on?" Chloe demanded an answer from either one.

"SHIELD is coming after me because I didn't give Pierce what he wanted," Steve said. "And then I was attacked by Rumlow and his STRIKE crew. They want you too, Chloe. We need to go."

"Oh god..." Chloe pushed down a lump in her throat. "It's started..."

"And if you two run, it's only a matter of time until they reach Seren," Natasha continued to advocate for the unconscious agent. "In her state, they could do so many things to her..."

Steve scowled. Absolutely not. "Natasha, get her some clothes. Chloe, get her things. We don't have a lot of time."

Natasha gave a nod and quickly left the room. Chloe went to Seren's belongings left on a table in the corner of the room. Steve then started taking off the monitors off Seren's hands while gently trying to wake her up.

"C'mon, Seren, just wake up for a little bit, please?" He shook her a bit. "Just a moment, sweetheart, and then I promise you can go back to sleep again." He slid an arm under her neck and another under her legs. "Chloe?"

"Ready!" Chloe rushed to him.

Steve had no choice but to lead the way out with Seren in his arms. They met Natasha halfway down the hallway and then together hurried towards the elevator. Naturally, the sight of them caught various employees' attention.

"Winters, what are you doing?" Natasha muttered as they hurriedly reached the entrance of the hospital. She had already scared off a few employees trying to near them and she was ready to continue it but the fact that Chloe was making time for a text message was a bit over the top.

"Seren may have been frantic about things but she did make a point about her family," Chloe said, briefly meeting Steve's glance. "She wanted to tell them to be careful and I...I think she had a point now. If SHIELD is coming for us, and we have Seren now, what do you think they're going to do to her family in order to get to us?"

Steve didn't have to think too much to know the answer. "Do it. But keep it brief. Let them know that Seren's safe with us." He led them down a small hallway just at the entrance. "And tell Rebeca too. Seren's team might be in danger too." He stopped in front of the women's restroom. "Natasha?"

Natasha had thought just like him and got on it. "Yup. Chloe?"

Chloe quickly sent a brief joint text to Seren's grandmother and parents. She then sent another message to Rebeca and dropped Seren's phone on the phone, stomping on it for good measure. Meanwhile, Steve let Seren's body down between Chloe and Natasha and the two brought her inside the women's restroom for a quick change.

Steve kept looking around for anyone suspicious and thankfully nobody showed up. He was relieved that when the women returned, Seren was semi-conscious. She was blinking in a dazed manner, and tired. He felt awful and that was still an understatement.

"She's not entirely there," Chloe said as Steve helped Seren stay on her feet. He was basically keeping her up by the waist and even then he had to still lift her on their way out of the hospital.

"How'd you get her to wake up in the first place?" He asked curiously.

"Rough..." Seren mumbled the word and leaned her head on his arm. "Natasha..."

Steve sent a look towards Natasha. He thought about asking her what exactly she had done to wake Seren up but he quickly decided that knowing the answer would probably make him feel worse.

"Where exactly are we going now?" Chloe asked once they were on the street.

"We need to figure out what your ghost friend wants," Natasha answered her and ignored Chloe's confused glance.

"You say 'friend' like I had a choice in the matter."

"It's the fact that you weren't killed that worries me," Natasha said and that time, Chloe's head whipped in her direction.

"Uh, thanks?"

"The Winter Soldier murders, so that begs the question as to why you weren't put on the same hit list," Natasha explained. "What do you have that the others didn't?" Chloe didn't need to ponder about it. "And" — Natasha continued before Chloe even opened her mouth — "why was it so special that they didn't just rip it out of you?"

Chloe's eyes widened in horror. Steve didn't blink. Leave it to Natasha to ask the cold hard questions and out loud. He had thought about it too but didn't want to freak Chloe out more than she already was.

[pestcontrolcamp]

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[interrogatormentors]

BOOK 2, EVENT 3: MEMORY LANE

The first emotion to return to Sollux was boredom. They always had assignments for him aboard the Starskimmer, even if proper interrogations fell into a lull, and the lack of mental stimulation left Sollux ready to gnaw off his own arm. He did try that at one point, sinking his teeth into his own, bony wrist above where the psionic cuff rested. He didn’t stop even as his world became white-hot, the pain solidifying his surroundings into something he could manage.

As he chewed, yellow blood coating his tongue in that distinctive wrongness begging him to stop, he mused on his surroundings. Not enough people paraded past his door to get a feel for how many troops the rebellion had under its thrall, and he wouldn’t have been surprised if the lower-down folk had orders to avoid him. Trisia’s presence meant she’d know what would happen if too many sounds and smells made it to him. 

He almost made it to the point of permanent damage when a bright light flashed in the room, temporarily stunning him, and blood oozed between his teeth. He redoubled his efforts, and if he concentrated he could almost fool himself to thinking he could feel his psionics crying up out of his own flesh with an acrid scent rising around him. A few seconds later the gas flooding the room took effect, and he woke some indeterminate time later with his wrist bandaged, arms pinned into place with reinforced cuffs behind his back, and a chain keeping him from going further than a few feet from where he sat. His shoulder continued to ache.

Karkat showed up after the fourth day of Sollux refusing meals, shouldering the door open with a bowl in his hands. “So do you want a fucking award, Captor? Most pathetic little meow-meow in this fucking wretched corner of the universe?” he said. Sollux didn’t answer him, making eye contact and nothing more as he sat on the edge of the sleeping platform. Karkat’s eyelid twitched and his fingers tightened around the bowl of whatever mush they’d elected to try giving Sollux today. “Your pissbaby tantrum will not hold out forever. I know how you work, Captor, I’ve known since you were the most awkward, gangliest little piece of shit I’d ever fucking met, and unless I’m jacked up on the same kind of sick sopor syrup Makara horks down whenever we’re not looking at him without my vaguest know how in the fucking matter, I know you’ll crack faster than a box of cluckbeast eggs hurtled off the top of that shitty hivestem that used to be your home at fucking Mach 12. You’re a creature of habit, you need something to do or you’ll explode like a miniscule blood-supping grass-dredger. So get used to sitting there without even the thumbs up your ass as you’d fucking caterwaul about, because you’re not getting jackall until you’ve been cleared as moderately cognizant and functional in the barest fucking qualifications of sophisticated fucking society. And before you try to pull a fucking fast one on me–”

“Get to the point,” Sollux said. “You’ll starve to death waiting for me.”

Karkat’s grip on the bowl tightened. “Death isn’t a fucking constant in this equation and you’re really fucking panrotted if you ever thought it was. It’s the wide-lipped cooking vessel calling the enclosed water-boiling receptacle black. You look like one of the shambling, parasite-infested corpses near Maryam’s hive. And that, as far as I’m fucking concerned, will not fucking slide here. SO! Being the magnanimous wriggler-sitter that I fucking am in this wretched excuse of an operation, I’m here to shove food down your throat like the disobedient wiggler you’re fucking being.”

“Go ahead.”

Karkat paused, waiting for more, but Sollux remained silent. So the mutant moved forward, grumbling obscenities under his breath. His posture remained tense as he scooped up some nondescript stew up with a spoon, offering it forward. He hadn’t brought a chair and the way he held his hand just an inch too high indicated he fully expected Sollux to spit at him or lash out and thus requiring a quick shielding of his face and a retreat so Sollux leaned forward, taking the mouthful of food without protest. He feigned swallowing, tongue pulled to the back of his mouth even as his digestive pouch cramped in on itself as he denied it more than a hint of broth. Karkat’s posture relaxed by an increment, and when the other troll blinked and then glanced back behind him Sollux took that time to shove the food out from the corner of his mouth in a subtle trail. So someone waited outside the cell, someone who didn’t think this would work.

Five mouthfuls later Karkat’s brows knitted together, and Sollux spat the food off to the side visibly now that the jig was up. “You wrigglerish piece of hoofbeast excrement,” Karkat hissed, grip tightening on the spoon. “I fucking told you, I’d wait as long as it fucking took. Do you think I’m going to fucking fold? With this stature? I’ll bite your fucking kneecaps! Do I have to hold your mouth closed, put you in a goddamn headlock, and wiggle you around like a misbehaving juvenile meowbeast? Fuck!”

“Give up and give me an IV,” Sollux replied. He slid his tongue along his teeth. At least proper food finally removed the lingering tang of blood there. “I’ve survived off of less.” When Karkat opened his mouth Sollux leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. “You know how I was noticed by the interrogatormentors? I tortured rebels in my brig by suffocating the life out of them. They annoyed me. Your precious little soldiers that trusted you, reduced to crying sacks of meat. No one escapes the helm’s conditioning, and nothing can break an interrogatormentor’s either. Your friend is dead. I am his replacement and his superior. So keep trying to spoonfeed me, team leader, but I’m not swallowing any of your pity today.”

The bowl cracked in Karkat’s grip, broth leaking from the fissures opened up by his rage’s pressure. Despite this his expression held none of that anger, instead dropping into something blank, though the edges belayed the forlorn misery that crept there. “I’m not going to give up on you, even if everyone else has,” he said finally. “I don’t believe you for a fucking second, funnily enough. I’m uniquely fucking qualified to know that at least something of what you used to be is still there.”

“Sure,” Sollux said. “I’ve got the framework of a coward in me. A coward that would rather sell out every single one of you rather than go back to the helm. And I did.” He tilted his head back, even as his calorie-starved exhaustion left it lolling a bit. “The Empire made me into something useful. You won’t take that from me.”

“Fine.” Karkat smoothed his thumb over one of the cracks in the bowl. “Fucking fine! Go ahead and keep spouting that fucking tripe and maybe I’ll give a shit about it when the Empire comes to fill me up with the bullets it failed to when my deplorable excuse for blood first showed itself in my cursed fucking ganderbulbs. But right now, Captor? I’m going to keep being the most annoying asshole you have ever met. If you forgot what brand of asshole I can be? Well, good fucking news for you, we’re on the fast track to break through the goddamn cement wall in your thinkpan so you remember that and that alone! So if you’re not going to eat, you’re going to get a heaping fucking helping of me talking all four of your auricular spongeclots off. Just in case you’ve forgot what fucking counting is, that means you’ve got two options now: I keep opening this conversational fecal-dripping yap of mine until the moobeasts come home, or you open your insolent fucking gob and actually swallow some fucking thing of nutritional value.”

Sollux snorted, rolling his eyes. Karkat clicked his tongue, setting the bowl on the ground next to the sleeping platform. He opened the door, and after exchanging a few words with whoever was on the other side he left. Sollux closed his eyes, trying to ignore the smell of the food left so close to him. 

He didn’t have to wait long before Karkat returned with a random troll on his heel, a skittish looking indigo who slid a needle into Sollux’s arm and hooked a nutrient drip up before finally taking the leaking bowl away when the fact it hadn’t really tempted Sollux into eating it became clear. Karkat brought a chair with him as well, and after they were left alone again he started talking. 

He stayed at a distance, safe and out of the range allowed to by his restraints, and told stories of all things. Stories about their friendship in the past, including stories about himself.

—“...And you know? I never fucking understood why because you would only fucking bitch unrelentingly about it, but you had a fucking bee-powered rig, and you hated it with more passion than almost anything, like I thought you hated fucking CA and CT but the way you hated dealing with your stupid bees was miraculous, honestly. I couldn’t even fathom it! During a period when there was a bee-killing disease going around your rig was so slow you bitched about how you counted seven thousand fucking cracks in the walls of your hivestem...”—

How they met, and how their friendship solidified.

— “... like, honestly, I don’t even really remember why we thought it’d be a fun idea, I don’t even know if it was... supposed to be fun? It might’ve been another of those wigglerhood pissing matches that the older fucks talk about so fondly, where we saw the same two-wheeled device and thought, I’m gonna be the lead, and then we fucking ate shit, like was completely inevitable. In so doing you learned this shitty fucking secret of mine, the burning swill that chugs relentless and unrepentantly through this shitty bloodpumper, and I was young and stupid and maybe if you tried it now, knowing all the fuckshit this world is, maybe I would’ve just lied down and died instead?

“But naturally apparently I still didn’t have enough of a deathwish so I decided that I’d just cull you, despite how stupid your fucking powers were. So there I fucking was, my face buried in the literal sand because of course you wanted to rub that into the wound along with the rest of the wound that is my face here, flailing and hocking the shit up as if it were the fattest, nastiest loogie as I tried to tear out your throat, and then when I ran out of steam and ate enough sand for the furnace that is my body to make the glass I’d spit for years to fucking come, you pulled me out and told me you’d keep my stupid secret if I didn’t blab about your fucking power scores. Because the way you’d been holding me under while fucking sandboarding me was your fucking psionics, and it felt like I was being pinned on the culling block by a fucking violet. Still didn’t seem like a fair trade in the end because my shit’s just fucking cursed, but whatever, it meant you had to put up with me until the world fucking exploded...” —

How scared Sollux had been about the helm. 

— “...sometimes? You’d cry about it. Not fucking sobbing or anything, because you were too emotionally fucking repressed for something like that. That much hasn’t fucking changed. And you kept insisting it was allergies, or some other bullshit, or just that they were out of your favourite fucking gamer piss excuse for swill at the corner mart, and I’d fucking roast you for that to ignore it, to allow you that modicum of dignity that you managed to scrape off the grimy floors of your fucking hivestem block, but I still remembered how you’d first told me about wanting to keep it secret, about what they’d do to you...” —

How he’d practiced for hours with Karkat’s help to suppress his own psionics, using a shitty EMP he’d built himself to detect the fluctuations. 

— “... and there was one time that the power went out and of course, me, absolute fucking weenus I fucking am, I screamed and it was a fucking manly scream, you asshole, and you got so fucking startled that you blew the damn thing up and we were wheezing smoke out of our airsacks for perigees, and your hair never recovered...” —

And he kept talking. He talked until his throat was getting hoarse. He talked until the lights automatically dimmed. He talked until drowsiness had him slur his words.

And then he left Sollux in the dark.

This continued over the next perigee. 

— “...so out of everyone I’ve ever met that wasn’t a fucking girl in our group of miscreants, because the girls and their everything is so fucking complicated that I’ve run out of diagrams to try and make any modicum of sense of it, you somehow had the most fucking casanova energy I’d ever fucking experienced. I don’t get it. How the fuck did you pull so many suitors without ever fucking recognizing it? I’ve literally never not thought about it. And right now you have enough pity appeal to raise the fucking dead, but that’s neither here nor fucking there, and I digress...” —

Eventually Sollux gave up trying to resist meals if only because he loathed losing his agency over his own pain, the prick of the IV needle changing out too much to bear without his control. He let Karkat feed him as the trend continued and Karkat kept regaling him with bullshit stories. 

— “...and the first time I was ever in the stars, I never thought I’d make it there. And I thought, then, I was that much closer to you. You had to be in the helm if you were still alive and you’d gotten so far away, so distant, and it felt like a gargantuan gap was dividing us but now that I was up there, in this wretched excuse of a shuttle that Zahhak was barely able to even keep together, we were just... we were getting there, we were so close and this daymare could be over...” —

He would sit with Sollux in the cell, complaining occasionally over the night to night activities going on without ever revealing too much. It didn’t need to be much, and out of habit Sollux compiled every tidbit that Karkat spewed into a neat little folder to pore over later in what little quiet moments Karkat afforded him.

— “...so right now our defenses are maintained by a team of some of the smartest idiots we have, which unfortunately somehow also includes this asshole named Schnee. What is wrong with that guy, I have to keep fucking asking myself? Sometimes I fucking swear he gets off on being reprimanded, which makes it that he gets along swimmingly with Zahhak because the freak gets off on reprimanding him, honestly, it’s disgusting...” —

Sometimes he stayed in silence, leaning against Sollux’s legs even after Sollux tried throttling him once as a result. That earned him an ankle cuff keeping him to the platform as well.

Aradia visited too sometimes, but not as much. She often smelled of the outside rather than the clinical sterility of whatever base they were located in, so she presumably went out on various missions where Karkat stayed sequestered. The two took turns escorting Sollux to the loadgaper, although Karkat usually was the one that hosed Sollux down when he refused to shower.

Sollux remained firm. He had to and he would, even as the boredom weighed down on him almost as much as the almost-memories pinged around the mix of metal and bone that comprised his thinkpan. He could see Karkat’s resolve faltering. As every attempt failed to bring Sollux to a state of emoting, as Sollux didn’t so much as offer a snide comment even when Karkat tried to goad him, the scarletblood grew more desolate. 

— “...sometimes I wish I had said fuck everyone else and found a hole to hide in. Taking a page out of your book for once, because you’d once said that if you could rig a cave to have your tech set up and get Dronedash to a remote, nearby location for the rest of your life, you’d’ve done it in a goddamn pusherbeat. And I think you were right about that. Fuck all this shit, sometimes. What use do I even have, I ask myself? Glorified fucking grubsitter, a full time fucking career, such a fall from grace of my old wigglerhood dreams...” —

Time dragged with the same despondent shuffle of Karkat’s feet outside of Sollux’s cell door, and he grew quieter. A stressed tick emerged upon his brow as if he sat imprisoned in Sollux’s stead, hair unkempt and wild as he focused instead on Sollux’s upkeep more than his own.

Two perigees had now passed.

Karkat arrived in Sollux’s cell again. He let Sollux eat in silence before straddling his usual chair backwards, arms folded upon its back. Aradia arrived shortly after, sitting on the bed next to Sollux and smoothing a hand over his hair. Sollux didn’t so much as stiffen, as much as he wanted to throw up. Karkat started talking about a time they played gamegrubs together, and Sollux closed his eyes to avoid thinking about the weathered rug under their feet, the smell of the microwave dinners long-abandoned as he hit a winning streak and Karkat foamed at the mouth in rage.

“... and you shoved me, once, and told me what a fucking idiot I was to have made such a fucking stupid rookie mistake–” Karkat paused, taking a shuddering breath. Sollux opened his eyes to see Karkat pressing hands to his own, but not before Sollux caught the glassiness to them. “And. And I just laughed, that awful miserable excuse of a laugh that I constantly fucking have, and told you with no hesitation what-so-fucking-ever that rookie mistakes were the literal definition of my entire fucking life from the moment I fucking hatched.” His voice cracked properly then, and his chest heaved once before a sob broke out of him. A hand dropped to press to his mouth, but the sobbing continued. “Just like this. Nothing else but the fucking truth. This really is the goddamn culmination of the shitpot of a heinous joke that is my fucking life, huh? Trust me to make it about me, too, because what else can I do? I’m a stupid selfish mistake, a blundering blemish on this miserable planet. I’m sorry, Sollux. I’m so fucking sorry.” 

He hiccuped, once, and he slid from his chair to Sollux’s knees. His tears burned on Sollux’s lap, soaking through his pant leg like a sad troll-Ghibli mockery.

Aradia took a breath, ears flickering once as he hand paused with fingers woven through Sollux’s greasy hair. Sollux stood poker straight, his own breath shredding his throat. “Karkat, you didn’t–” she began, but Karkat only laughed with his voice muffled in Sollux’s legs. He laughed and laughed, and the more he laughed the more it sounded like the last of his sanity had finally slipped away.

“Don’t fucking start, Aradia! Don’t try to placate me, I know what I did! I failed him! I shoul’ve done something, anything, I’m stupid and resourceful and I’ve got at least one shred of my thinkpan left, I should’ve fucking… fuck, smuggled him away or something. I fucking failed him and he’s gone and I can’t even bring him back!” Karkat tipped his head back and Sollux couldn’t tell whether he was wailing or screaming. The difference didn’t really matter. “Every single memory just fucking reminds me he’s dead. Look at him! He was fucking right! Look at him, Megido! It’s like holding a fucking statue!”

“Don’t talk about him like he’s not here,” Aradia said, her own voice brittle. Sollux felt her nails curl into his hair and he bit his own tongue, and calm spread through him as his mouth filled with blood again. “It’s not your fault.”

“Nothing we’ve done has worked,” Karkat snapped. He smacked at Sollux’s chest, and his warm hand remained pressed over Sollux’s bloodpusher. Sollux bit down harder as his own heart rate picked up, threatening to thud out of his chest. Turn off those emotions like a husktop, cullbait. Shut up, cullbait. Shut up. “He would sooner run me through with his fucking horns and maybe I fucking deserve it! Fuck, he deserves better!” Another smack, this one gentler, a poisonous gesture that left Sollux’s head spinning. He couldn’t swallow with how his throat closed up and so blood started trickling from his lips, bubbling with spittle. “He deserves better than me failing him and I just… it should’ve been me. It should’ve been me dead, not him. Never him. I would rather have died in his place. He deserves the world, and like a fucking parasite, I did nothing but watch. His two perigees are up, Megido, and I’ve concussed myself on the fucking deadline.” Karkat finally fell silent, another wordless smack landing atop Sollux’s breastbone and threatening to shatter him in two.

Aradia took another breath, petting Sollux’s head again, though her false hands held a telltale tremor. She hadn’t lost that, even with the replacement arms, how emotions boiled up in her and left her quivering with the need to solve the mystery in front of her. “If you failed him, so did I,” she said. Her voice remained firm, the steadiness of someone delivering a eulogy before a funeral pyre. Her hand slid down as the other rose up, and both hands gripped Sollux’s jaw.

As Aradia prepared to snap his neck and Karkat sobbed again something in Sollux broke, a fluttering feeling in his gut that he hadn’t felt in sweeps. Panic. He bowed his head, taking a slow breath through his nose as he screwed his eyes shut. He wondered for a half-hearted moment who’d set his recovery to two months as some kind of cruel joke. His eyes burned, physically burned as his face heated up, and a few scant tears managed to squeeze themselves out from between his lashes as he choked on his own blood and fear. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die like this, pathetic and drooling on himself with ghosts of memory tugging on his thinkpan with serrated claws.

Aradia stopped, audibly swallowing. “Sollux,” she said, and she shifted to kneel on the bed next to him. She cupped his cheeks, lifting her sleeve to wipe the blood from his mouth. “Sollux, say something. Anything. Fight for yourself, please.”

“I can’t,” Sollux choked out, and his voice felt brittle. Karkat quieted then, and Sollux felt the shift as the other troll lifted his head. “I’m weak. That’s why they chose me. You keep talking to me and I can’t feel anything.”

“You’re scared,” Aradia said. She leaned her head against his bad shoulder, and by this point Sollux barely registered the pang of pain that resulted. “That’s a feeling, and it doesn’t make you weak. You’re still here, and you’re still alive through everything and you’re coming back. You wouldn’t be crying if you weren’t.” She huffed as Sollux tried shaking his head, catching him by the horns. She reached, peeling open one of his eyes and glaring at him. Her gaze softened as Sollux hiccuped, and she papped his cheek with her free hand. “You don’t have to feel everything all at once. I think your head would straight up short-circuit. But you don’t have to come back except at your own pace.”

Karkat gurgled a bit, and Sollux glanced down to see him press a fist to his mouth to keep from crying more. He failed, desaturated red streaking down his face in heretical streaks. The way Karkat cried had Sollux shifting, but the panic and fear had faded into an echo of discomfort. He couldn’t feel anything else. Maybe if they left him alone, maybe if Karkat just stopped crying, he’d have the time to recover himself. He was an interrogatormentor of the empire, but something in him had shattered and he didn’t know if he could recover it under scrutiny.

Sollux took a breath, hands jerking in his bonds behind his back before he curled his hands into fists. He dug his nails into his palms as hard as he could, as Aradia’s eyes on him meant he could no longer bite his throbbing tongue. Pain stood out as the only feeling he could isolate, and he needed it to bring himself back to reality. He craved the times back on the Starskimmer where he would burn himself with his own psionics when he needed to focus, and the scars on his arms taunted him with old blademarks he couldn’t recreate to ground himself. Aradia continued to fuss, hands on his cheeks as Karkat sobbed, and the world narrowed around Sollux. He couldn’t breathe. Everything seemed too loud and too bright, too much sensation that he couldn’t handle and couldn’t compute. “I. I’m not. I told you a thousand times,” he said. “I’ll tell you a thousand more. They killed who I used to be and I’m not going back to that.”

“Then tell me two hundred and twenty-two more times, and maybe it will stick,” Aradia said. She grabbed his chin, forcing eye contact. Her eyes burned into him, and sweat beaded along Sollux’s brow as he continued clawing at his own palms. “Remember when you first got here? You said he was dead, that he wasn’t coming back. And now you’re saying me and I and that means I don’t think you’re as far gone as you insist you are.”

Karkat scrubbed at his face, standing up. He took Aradia’s hand on Sollux’s face, and their combined heat made something in Sollux quiver. There was a moment before his lip twisted and he recoiled proper, leaning off to the side and throwing up spectacularly off to the side.Two pairs of arms braced him up on either side for a moment and that only made everything worse, and Sollux spasmed a bit and heaved even when there was nothing left in his stomach to spill.

“It’s too much. Megido, come on. Stop. Let go of him—look at him, fuck. It’s too much.” he heard Karkat say, and Sollux felt both trolls release him. He tripped on his side, shuddering and quaking and weak like a newborn meowbeast in the rain. “Hey, Captor. Sollux. Look at me.” Despite the shakiness that remained in his voice, Karkat sounded more animated than he had for weeks. Sollux didn’t lift his head–he couldn’t if he wanted to–and Karkat sighed, the sound catching on the raw parts of his throat. “We’re… We’re going to go and give you space. But we’re here for you, okay?” 

Sollux cracked open his eyes to see Karkat crouching in front of him, and what little of his resolve remained proceeded to splinter into bits. Karkat reached forward, wiping Sollux’s mouth with the usual towel he brought when he fed him for inevitable messes, even as Sollux groaned. 

Karkat got up, and Aradia opened the door for him. They both stepped out into the hall, but before the door closed Karkat turned back and offered him his best attempt at a smile. It wasn’t very good, wobbling and twisting with every repressed keen that culminated in the hitch of his shoulders, but it was sincere nonetheless. “We’re coming back for you, you fucking disaster. Nothing could stop that. We always will.”